Klaine Advent Challenge 2015
by BlurtItAllOut
Summary: Drabbles and short one-shots throughout December 1st to 24th, from all of me to all of you. Klaine-centric. Prompts are welcome. Rated T for safety.
1. When he got him alone

**I love Christmas, and have therefore decided to make my own advent calendar - allowing myself to take the time to write a drabble or short oneshot for 24 days, independent and around Klaine. If anyone has prompts for me, feel free to share, as I have no idea what I'll write except what strikes my fancy that particular day.**

 **See each day for eventual warnings or spoilers.**

 **This one is rated T, if you ignore the mention of toys, and is an AU first meeting-story, where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school.**

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Working at Brooks Brothers isn't exactly a dream job, but it's very much a pleasant job when he needs to pay rent, tuition, books, and now and then a mocha. He'd aced his job interview with his knowledge about fashion, he knows customer service after working in his dad's garage, he can dress for the occasion, and he is willing to work the worst shifts with his typical student's desperation for money. One more year, and he will be a NYADA graduate, and he'll hopefully bid this store farewell. But it's been two good years here so far.

Late Saturday night is one of those less than popular shifts. He knows his colleagues are out on dates or home with their families. While he is all alone, folding shirts and sorting bowties to make it easier for the morning shift to open. It's not many out doing any shopping today – it's a rainy May night, and most people have better things to do. Fortunately for Kurt, he's allowed to read in his books and prepare for the upcoming exams during quiet times if he has nothing else to do. But a hoard of German tourists just ran through the store like a pack of elephants, and Kurt can't understand why they have to lift every piece of clothing and wrinkle them, especially when they aren't even buying anything..

He's busy untying a knot in a thin tie, when he hears the sound. Who the hell is playing Beethoven now?

And then he sees him. A young man in a blue blazer with red piping struts overly confidently up to him.

" _Baby boy, where you at? Got no strings, got men attached. Can't stop that feelin' for long, no,_ " he sings, and a pack of young men joins him to back him up. Kurt can enjoy a good music number, a capella and all, and the store is slow, so he grins at the group using the floor as their private stage. He has work to do, though, so when the tie is solved, he moves on to pair some abandoned shoes. It would probably be easier if he didn't keep throwing glances at the cute man with the moves and silly faces.

" _See all these illusions just take us too long, And I want it bad… Because you walk pretty, Because you talk pretty, 'Cause you make me sick, And I'm not leavin' till you're leavin',_ " he sings, sliding around Kurt, while the other boys are side-stepping and ooh'ing.

Kurt smiles more than just politely, and walks back to the counter, the hot stranger and his sidekicks following him.

" _Baby boy you da shit, that makes you my equivalent. Well you can keep your toys in the drawer tonight, all right_ ," he sings with a profound blush, and Kurt snorts indelicately.

"So I pray to something he ain't bluffin', rubbin' up on me," he sings, and runs a hand down his chest until his thumb catches on his belt buckle. The movement forces Kurt to check him out properly, and what a pleasant sight it is. In a more traditional Saturday night-setting, and with some liquid courage, Kurt wouldn't have minded rubbing up on that. But as it is, he can only watch with amusement, safe behind the counter. The young man convinced Kurt two bars in that he had to know music and have some experience with performing. This is not just an amateur flash mob, or a bachelor party-prank. This has a story. The choreography and coordination reveal that the group is synched from experience, and Kurt is dying to know more.

" _When I get you alone. When I get you you'll know, baby. When I get you alone. When I get you alone now_ ," he belts out, undoubtedly singing it to Kurt. But Kurt knows they've never met before. He'd remember those eyes. That smile. That ass… The blazer is a bit bizarre, though, and there's some kind of emblem on it. It's too stiff even for a Brooks Brother-man. The back up-singers are wearing more generic, average outfits, though, so Kurt suspects some kind of set up.

As soon as the last tone is out in the air, the young men surround the front singer, cheering and shouting things Kurt's can understand except a few "Happy birthdays!" They're running their knuckles through his gelled hair and patting his back like straight boys do when they want to say "love you, friend," and before Kurt can consider if he wants to say anything, they're gone.

The next day, Kurt is wondering if he dreamed it all, or if the stunt show last night really happened. There are no traces of it, not that he would expect the blazer hanging over a mannequin or the fading tones still whispering to him from under the ceiling.

The weather is much better today, which means more people out shopping, giving Kurt more to do. He's stuck with the register all day, and knows he'll need to stay at least one extra hour to clean up the mess that rowdy customers make. How difficult is it to fold a sweater after you've shaken it out to take a look and decided it cost too much? He's been working through a long line of paying customers, but is now getting to the last one, he counts from the corner of his eye.

"How may I help you?" Kurt greets the next customer without looking, still carefully placing the purchases the last customer did in a paper bag and handing it over with the receipt.

"I'd like this bowtie, and hopefully your forgiveness," a warm voice replies, and Kurt startles at the unexpected request, looking up to see a familiar face. A tan hand slides the bowtie closer to him over the counter, while the other hand removes a pair of tinted sunglasses with pink frames. That's when he recognizes the impromptu showman from last night.

"We have a 3 for 2-offer on socks this week, but the church down the block specializes on forgiveness," Kurt teases, and smiles at the strange stranger. His eyes look like yesterday's performance was only the beginning of a very, very long night. "We also have blazers, if you have misplaced your own," he adds, taking in the v-neck he's sporting today.

The young man grins shyly, ducking his head and rubs at his tired eyes.

"Umm, I'm really sorry if I offended you last night, or got you in trouble. You were a random victim of my friends' crazy ideas for my 21st birthday."

"Happy belated birthday," Kurt smiles, because he's seriously cute, even if he looks a little hungover. Probably why he shows up 15 minutes before closing time, if he had a wild party last night. Tonight. This morning. Whatever.

"My friends, I love them, but they thought it was a good idea to re-enact some of my youthful past to celebrate me entering adulthood."

"Who needs enemies when you have friends, right?" Kurt smirks, thinking about what he's had to endure from especially Santana and Puck. "But wait, does that mean last night's show was a revival?"

"Yes…" Cutie sighs, and rubs both hands over his face. Kurt's hand itches to adjust the hair he's messed up. "I tried to serenate someone, back in high school, like this. I've never been good with romance," he admits dejectedly.

"It didn't go well?" Kurt asks carefully. Fortunately, there are no other customers waiting to pay this close to closing hour.

"I got him fired!"

"Wow! Well, my job is safe, no witnesses," he winks, earning warm laughter from the entertainer.

"I'm glad."

"Kurt," Kurt says boldly.

"Blaine," the other replies, extending his hand for a shake. So polite, so nice manners, much better than singing about toys in the bed drawer. Kurt takes his hand in his, and wow, is it wrong to think about putting his hands all over this very appealing body?

"So Kurt, am I forgiven?" Blaine asks seriously, but with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Of course," Kurt drawls, looking up at him through his eyelashes. If this young man can make a fool of himself and still dare to come back, then Kurt can be bold enough to flirt a little.

They look at each other silently, a little awkwardly, both blushing.

"So, bowtie…" Kurt says, just as Blaine says "surveillance camera!" and points to a spot on the ceiling right above them.

"I'm sorry, you first," Blaine adds quickly.

"I just wondered if you really wanted the bowtie, or if it was just something to hold on to."

"Oh, I definitely want it. I… I guess I have a thing for bowties," he admits. Today, he's wearing a v-neck t-shirt and short-hemmed capris, but it's a scorching hot May day, and if he's still feeling his party, Kurt can understand the lack of constricting ties.

So Kurt begins to ring in the purchase, and does not think about draping it around the strong column of his neck, brush it along the strong jawline, or tease his fingers in the tendrils of chest hair he can spot peaking out. Nope, he does no such thing.

"You were saying something about cameras?" he says instead.

Blaine looks confused for a second, but then he laughs.

"You have surveillance cameras. I was just thinking there's a risk someone can still fire you, and I'd hate for you to get in trouble."

"Mmm, valid point," Kurt nods, but grins. He tilts his head to the side. "I guess you would be responsible, and I don't even know your last name."

"Anderson," Blaine quickly answers.

"There must be a lot of Anderson's in New York."

"There must be," Blaine nods with him. "Maybe we should exchange numbers, just in case?"

"Yes, I believe that would be a necessary safety precaution," Kurt agrees. He shoves the card reader over to Blaine, so he can pay, while he with care folds the bowtie into one of their tiny boxes for this particular purpose. The payment goes through, and he rips off the receipt, and does the world's most cliché move. While Blaine looks, he finds a pen, and meticulously writes down his number, careful not to smudge the digits into something unreadable. Blaine is gawking, blushing, but quickly rummages in his bag. He peaks Kurt's curiosity, when he pulls out a folder of sheet music, and scribbles his name and number along the first music bar. Someone carrying sheet music in his bag is most definitely someone Kurt should give a call, if he wasn't already tempted to do so.

Blaine accepts the bag and receipt, after placing his sheet on the counter for Kurt.

"I'm gonna leave you alone now," he murmurs shyly, already stepping back to exit the store.

"I thought you wanted to get me alone?" Kurt parries boldly, which makes Blaine guffah.

"So, give me a call if the surveillance cameras give you trouble, or something?" Blaine asks, still backing.

"Or something," Kurt parrots with a smirk. With a silly, but adorable, wave Blaine leaves, and Kurt wonders how long it's expected to wait before texting someone.


	2. Movie night

**Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback after yesterday's update. I hope you'll like this one, which follows canon, but is set some years down the line.**

 **Prompts are accepted and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but a thick blanket and a fireplace.**

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The sound of Kurt laughing makes Blaine look up from his book.

"Hmm?" he asks, hoping Kurt will share his amusement.

"Tina sent me a video," Kurt hums, tapping the screen on his phone, probably to see it again.

"Yeah?" Tina and Sam announced a month ago that they were planning a get-together to celebrate the ten year's anniversary of their Nationals win. Ever since, they've been haunting everyone for pictures and videos, obviously planning some kind of AV-memory. Blaine would bet Artie is involved in that particular darling.

"Why have I never seen this?"

Blaine inserts the bookmark, leaves the book on the coffee table, and crawls down on the floor where Kurt is sitting huddled under a thick blanket in front of their fireplace. He can't risk getting a cold now right before opening night, so he's trying to stay as warm as possible, but sipping hot tea so his throat won't dry out from the crackling fire either. Kurt's body is his instrument, and he's very apt at taking care of it. Blaine may be biased, but he's convinced his husband looks even better now than when they got married.

"What are you watching?" he asks bemused, taking in Kurt's lips turned upwards in a smirk, his red cheeks and bright eyes. Blaine really hopes he isn't getting that cold he's been fearing.

Kurt opens an arm in invitation, and Blaine sits down under the blanket with him. Not until he's properly settled in Kurt's arm, does Kurt tap the screen to replay the video.

It takes a moment before Blaine's memory is jogged, but he has no trouble instantly recognizing his high school-self. He had repressed that particular memory, and he thought he had convinced Tina to delete the video.

"That's mortifying," he groans, and tries to take Kurt's phone out of his hands, even if he must have seen the video a couple of times by now.

"It's not," Kurt objects vehemently. "It's hot."

"I'm twerking like nobody was watching, and you laughed," Blaine sulks, giving up on ending the video performance.

"And I ask again: Why have I never seen this?" Kurt tugs him closer, and Blaine tries not to protest. This is hardly the most embarrassing episode in their years spent together.

"I wanted to impress you. I didn't want my hot New York-fiancé to think about his high school-sweetheart as immature."

"It's anything but immature," Kurt says, and his index finger runs carefully over a frozen picture of Blaine's ass. Blaine leans back to properly look at his husband when he notices the breathy quality to his voice.

"But you laughed…" he still says hesitantly, a little touch of hurt still lingering.

"I laughed at myself. When I saw this video," Kurt smiles almost shyly, locking eyes with Blaine. "It took me by surprise, that I can still feel like this about you. I like it, though," he adds.

"It's such a stupid video," Blaine groans. "And nobody twerks anymore either."

"It's most definitely not stupid. It's video proof that my high school-sweetheart had an amazing ass, and knew how to move."

"Excuse me? Why are you talking about my butt in the past?" Blaine says faux appalled, and even scoots away a few inches.

"Because now I have a husband with a magnificent ass, and I am a very big fan of your moves," Kurt smirks, and leans in to kiss him. "This video reminded me that it's been some time since we took advantage of your assets," Kurt wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

"Huh?" Blaine says confused.

"As I said, younger Blaine was hot, older Blaine is even hotter."

"Are you calling me old?" Blaine asks, more amused now.

"Well, you'll always be older than me," Kurt smirks.

"I think I can still keep up with you," Blaine murmurs, and leans back closer, Kurt meeting him halfway for a kiss. "So you really found that video appealing?"

"Mmm," Kurt hums against his lips. "Even more gorgeous now than when we met at Dalton, but still as clueless," he snorts, and takes Blaine's hand under the blanket, leading it down between his legs.

"Oh!" Blaine exclaims when his fingers catch around something very profound in Kurt's loose pants.

"I'm saving that video," Kurt growls, and tugs at Blaine until he's straddled his lap.

"In all fairness, I still have videos of you from McKinley. Your NYADA-audition… Single Ladies… Bad Romance. God, Kurt!" Blaine groans, pulling in all the wrong directions to get the Henley off of him.

"Wait until you see some of the choreography for my new role."

Blaine swallows heavily, because while high school-Kurt was bold and provocative, present Kurt has a different awareness of his body and sexiness, which makes him oh so much more dangerous on the floor. Both the dance floor and currently on their living room-floor.

"I guess I'll have to get access to your wardrobe backstage," Blaine giggles like a teenager. Kurt makes him feel like a teenager. He tests a little on top of Kurt's lap, and yeah, he thinks he still manages some of the moves from that video.

Kurt digs his fingers into the firm derriere muscles of his husband, and tugs him closer.

"Dance for me," he whispers hoarsely, and as he so often does, Blaine obeys his husband.


	3. Making An Entrance

**Ups, a little bit late updating this, as it is now December 4th here - but I was home really late from choir rehearsal, and with a strained relationship to my sagging tights led to this. Enjoy! It's set to canon, between the scenes, some random time after Blaine moved in with Kurt and the girls in Bushwick.**

 **I encourage prompts, but don't own Glee.**

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The familiar sound of the heavy sliding door tempts Blaine to look up from his history of theatre-books expectantly. His lips instantly and automatically turn into a bright smile when he sees his fiancé in the door opening.

"Is Santana home?" Kurt asks immediately, and Blaine shakes his head in confusion.

"Good," Kurt exhales, and starts toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning the fly of his signature tight pants.

"Not that this isn't a pleasant sight, but what's going on?" Blaine laughs, and gets up from the couch, gladly abandoning his schoolbooks. He gives Kurt, still busy undressing, a light peck on his cheek and slides the door behind him closed. "Need any help?" Blaine wiggles his eyebrows. This is so out of character for Kurt, living with Rachel and Santana is a cock block in itself, and they've stopped assuming there's time for a quickie anywhere else but in their shared bed even if the loft apartment is empty. Those girls tend to pop up with the most annoying timing, especially Santana. Her Spanish eye can probably predict sex.

"I _need_ to get out of these pants," Kurt growls.

Blaine's body is floating in that awkward limbo between aroused and relaxed.

"Cassandra July is a monster," Kurt grits out, while shimmying his pants down his thighs, and Blaine's body settles for relaxed. Some things and persons will never be part of foreplay.

"I know, honey," Blaine murmurs sympathetically. He has heard enough stories from Rachel and Kurt to know Miss July is quite the unforgiving and ruthless teacher.

"I was well aware of my dance class today, and brought my gym bag as usual," Kurt spits, and stamps on his pants to get them entirely off of him. That kind of treatment of his clothes speaks volume of how upset he is. "Thinking I'm in a school with art students mastering at least a minimum of grace, I placed the bag next to my chair while I had lunch with Dylan and Thomas. You know Dylan and Thomas?" Kurt asks, finally looking properly at Blaine.

"I do," Blaine confirms, he's met Kurt's classmates several times, and even share some classes with some of them. He bends down to pick up Kurt's pants, shaking them carefully to rid them of wrinkles. Kurt is standing in his underwear, socks, shirt, vest and tie. Blaine takes Kurt's hand in his, gently tugs him further into their apartment, and drapes the pants with care over the back of the couch while Kurt continues with his recounting of his day.

"Some clumsy asshole tripped in his own shadow, and dropped his jumbo-mug of tea on my bag. Needless to say, my dance clothes were soaked in green tea, and it was no way I would dance in wet pants smelling like peppermint and lemon. So I had to dance in these clothes," Kurt sulks, and tugs at his vest.

With nimble fingers, Blaine begins working on the constricting tie, and Kurt gives him a loving smile while standing still to better give Blaine access.

"It was one thing to dance in my fabulous clothes at McKinley, or to do side steps in the uniform at Dalton. But dance classes at NYADA are something else entirely, which you know," Kurt pouts, so Blaine kisses the pout away. "And I just know Cassie July decided to run us like circus animals when she noticed my lack of a proper outfit. Of course she wouldn't listen to my explanation, and made a fool of me in front of everyone, saying I wasn't interesting in putting in enough effort to break a sweat, and how nothing comes for free, not even for super-gays. And I know that," Kurt barks. "I've busted my ass in her classes for months, but one mistake and I'm her new favourite toy to tear apart limb by limb."

"I'm sorry she did that," Blaine murmurs, tugging the tie out of the collar. Next, he unbuttons Kurt's vest and shirt, sliding them both down Kurt's arms in one movement. "Come with me," he says gently, lacing their fingers together, and walks towards their bedroom. "Everything feels better after a nap. If you want, I can give you a foot rub too."

"And this is why I'm marrying you," Kurt sighs content, and leans heavily on Blaine, making their short walk more difficult.

"Because I'm a fan of naps?"

"No, because you always seem to know what I need," Kurt smiles sweetly, and kisses Blaine's shoulder, just because it's what's closest.

"I'll set the alarm for 40 minutes, and then we can hopefully start on dinner before the girls are back home," Blaine suggests.

"Hmm, we'll see," Kurt murmurs, "if I can find motivation to leave that bed. I may stay there until Miss July is retired."

"We'll see," Blaine snorts. "I can't remember our bed be on the list of possible wedding venues."

"No," Kurt smirks, "but it's on our list for possible honeymoon-destinations!"

"Only if we move the bed far, far away from Santana and Rachel."

"I wouldn't dream of anything else," Kurt agrees, and wraps his arms around Blaine from behind. "But for now, I only desire a nap."

"So nap we shall."


	4. And So They Meet

**Yikes, this weekend got busy! I've just opened 3 doors in my advent calendar, in a bulk celebration, so I'll type three drabbles for you tonight too.**

 **This one is an AU first meeting, with spoilers for episode 5:19 Old Dogs, New Tricks.**

 **Prompts is accepted and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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"I was right, Hummel," Derek smirks, and swats playfully at Kurt's ass when he gets out of his wardrobe. Kurt heard the man explain in an interview how he liked to flirt innocently with the single members of his staff to keep up the self-esteem and guarantee wonderful performances. The bruise on Kurt's left ass-cheek from a pinch two days ago would like to object to that particular definition of "innocent", but Kurt is hesitant to complain or do anything that might jeopardize his very new position. He would very much like to keep his job and remain in the good books of the good men in control of his future destiny on Broadway. This is his first lead role, and after just a week of performances, he's gotten addicted to the taste of the thrill and rush of it. He needs to do this for as long as possible, and hopefully forever.

"I gladly admit defeat," Kurt plasters on a cheerful smile for his producer. Derek had insisted the standing ovation from opening night would be a recurring thing. This is the third time it has happened, in just six days and eight shows.

"Your growing crowd of fans are waiting by the backdoor. Do you want to go out through the hidden door, or maybe try the front for less people?" Derek suggests.

There's a lot that can be said about the man, but he genuinely cares about his crew, and quickly learns their quirks and needs. Kurt gives his all on that stage, and some nights he's drained, too exhausted to face anyone but a cab driver discreetly taking him home. But tonight he's in a very good mood, riding the high from the adrenaline rush his audience provided him with through their reactions and standing ovation. He doesn't want to be the evasive and cold actor, but being outgoing, social and perpetually "on" doesn't come easily to him either. But he's trying, because he knows the success of the show partly depends on the actors' reputation. But even more importantly, he's trying because he so wants to give something back to the masses of people who spend of their limited money and time to see him on stage, and makes him feel so happy and accomplished. He remembers very well how it was, going to a concert or a show, hoping to get a glimpse of his idol. He will never forget running into Patti LuPone for the first time. So tonight he quickly removed his makeup, tried to save his hair after two hours with a wig, got into street clothes, and is ready to say hello and sign a few autographs for some of the most invested fans.

"I'd like to meet them," Kurt nods. "See you on Tuesday," he says as a goodbye, and heads for the usual exit.

Derek had said it was quite a crowd, but Kurt didn't expect this size. He imagined maybe 10-12 people, not closer to 50. He can literally feel the force of it, when they break into cheer as soon as he's out the door and they recognize him in the dark.

"Good evening," he greets them with an awkward wave in front of his chest. He really needs to get better at this. "Thank you for coming, I'm sorry you had to wait for so long, but I bet you can imagine it takes a lot of make up to look like this instead of what you saw earlier," he jokes, and circles around his naked face.

He approaches the crowd with a smile, getting as close as possible without annoying the security. There's still a metal fence between him and the kind people who bought tickets ("or potential lunatics", as Derek had warned him after opening night), so it's not as if he can blend in with them.

A girl is laughing hysterically, and can't do anything but hand him her Playbill. Fortunately, he has a sharpie in his pocket. He added that particular accessory to his post-show outfits after he had to sign a Polaroid with a hot pink lipstick. She manages to get out a "thank you" in the midst of her crazy fangirl-giggles, and he smiles as he moves to the next, a man and what must be his daughter in her early teens.

She's brought him a bouquet of flowers, which melts his heart a little. He smiles genuinely at her, and asks her what she thought of the play. She responds with an answer revealing that this wasn't her first show, before she bluntly states that she'd like to play against him one day. He asks for her name, and winks when he says he'll keep an eye out for her. Her father, realizing that Kurt has more people to greet, reminds the daughter about school tomorrow, and that they need to get back home. Kurt waves at them, and without watching turns towards the next fan.

"It was just amazing to watch you, Mr. Hummel, you've come so far since you played Peter Pan at Lexington," a lovely, warm male voice gushes, and Kurt meets a pair of beautiful eyes.

"You know about that guest appearance?" he asks surprised. Not many people know about his pet project during his first year at NYADA, when he helped to prevent a play at the retired home being cancelled by starring as Peter Pan.

"You were a legacy at NYADA even when you were still studying there. I've heard quite some stories about you," the man smiles in a way that makes his eyes twinkle.

"Should I be nervous?" Kurt asks mostly in jest, but also a bit worried if this handsome stranger in reality is some kind of ruthless stalker.

"Where are my manners?" the man shakes his head. "My name is Blaine Anderson, I was a student at NYADA before I realized my true calling and I transferred out," he introduces himself, even extending a hand.

Kurt shakes it, a warm and soft hand will calluses on his fingers, and he has an urge to ask how the man spends his days, but he doesn't. Was his true calling that of a carpenter? Or a painter?

"I'm sorry, but I can't remember having met you," Kurt apologizes, and adds mentally that he without doubt would have remembered someone like Blaine.

"I left after only one semester, and it is quite the chaotic school, easy to miss someone," Blaine shrugs.

"And within just one semester you learned about little moi?" Kurt asks playfully, and okay, maybe he's flirting a little.

"What can I say? You made a name for yourself when you won the Midnight Madness, and when I saw the bootleg from Lexington you made a lasting impression on me. I've been going to all your shows ever since," Blaine admits. "Congratulations with finally making it to Broadway, it's rightfully earned."

"Thank you!" Kurt preens. Not yet 25, and playing a lead role on Broadway eight shows a week, who would have thought that back at McKinley? "And how about you, do you get to follow your calling after you saw the light?"

"I just came back home to New York after a little tour, and am working on my second record, so I'd say I got my professional dreams fulfilled," he grins proudly.

"Congratulations!" Kurt cheers, and vows to look this handsome artist up on Youtube as soon as he's alone. "I'm ashamed to admit I don't recognize your name, but I'm sure you're talented." He's worked hard to get where he is, but it also means he isn't as updated on the cultural scene in New York as he'd like to.

"You could check it out for yourself, and come to one of my concerts," Blaine winks, and Kurt wishes for a moment that he had a dull office-job from nine to five, with ample possibilities to drool on Blaine from afar on a stool in a bar or a restaurant or wherever Blaine performs. And he doesn't even know what kind of music he plays!

"Maybe I should," Kurt agrees, and ducks his head a little. "As you can see, I have more lovely people waiting to say hello, so I guess I should do the rounds," he says regretfully, and does he notice a hint of disappointment on Blaine's face?

"Of course, I'm sorry for occupying your time," Blaine nods. "Could I just ask for your autograph?" he asks politely, with a soft smile Kurt thinks it'd take years for him to learn how to say no to. Blaine gives him a picture, which Kurt remembers from his Senior year production. He gives Blaine a pointed look.

"You really kept tab on me?"

"I've kept in touch with the friends I made before I transferred, and I saw some of the shows at NYADA. I'll always enjoy musicals and quality entertainment," he shrugs.

Kurt decides to do something that would send Derek in a fit of hysteria, but he doesn't get any stalker vibes from this handsome art-appreciator. He looks too humble, genuine and honest to be anything but sincere. Usually, he signs a picture with the ten letters of his name. But tonight, as a single exception, he signs the picture with ten digits.


	5. Just What The Doctor Ordered

**And here is the Advent-calendar drabble for December 5th - have patience with me, and I will catch up.**

 **This story is based on a prompt from Val25: "Do a one shot about one of them getting a shot. You could do one of them is a doctor and the other needs a shot. Or one is comforting the other." This is what came out of it, I hope you're happy with it! Please ignore any mistakes of medical (lack of) knowledge. This is my first attempt at writing something so wildly AU, so I guess there aren't really much of spoiler warning needed her.**

 **Advent prompts are accepted and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

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Kurt taps his foot impatiently on the worn, ugly yellowgreenbrownish patterned linoleum floor, and tries not to look at anything but the glaring screen on his phone where he's playing some mindless, addictive game Sam recommended for him. Despite the hot end of July-afternoon, he's shivering as if he's freezing. He wonders if that's a symptom for a disease, or just nerves.

"Hummel?" a male voice calls out in the waiting area. Startled, Kurt jumps up from his uncomfortable burgundy plastic chair, and the owner of the voice smiles at him, holding the door open as an invite. He might as well be the executioner or a butcher, in Kurt's opinion. Albeit not so daunting that Kurt can't notice that he fulfils the cliché of all doctors being handsome.

Kurt takes a deep breath, tries to remember some of the breathing exercises for relaxation, which Rachel taught him when she was hooked on yoga for three months. It doesn't help, so he tries to remember some tips from his impro-classes at NYADA to fake his way through this. He forces his feet to walk determinedly towards the door, and keeps his back straight and head held high. _I am a brave boy_ , runs laps in his brain like a mantra on drugs.

The man gestures for him to sit down on a chair with wide armrests, before closing the door behind them.

"I have the papers from your GP, but I'd like to double check why you're here to minimize the risk of doing anything wrong," the man explains. "And if you could state your middle name and date of birth for me?"

"I need to do a full STD-test," Kurt mumbles shyly, embarrassed, after giving his personal information. It had been easier to go with this to his GP, a middle-aged woman. She had done all the necessary physical examination and basic tests, but needed to send him to the lab for the finale blood analysis. And to sit in front of a gorgeous young man around his age, that's something else entirely. It makes Kurt feel both ashamed and defensive. The doctor seems unfazed, though. If he's even a real doctor? Kurt studies the name tag on his chest, and can't see anything but a last name; Anderson. Shouldn't it say "Dr." if he was the real deal?

"You seem awfully young for a doctor," Kurt blurts out, his nerves messing with his social filter.

"I can assure you that I'm qualified to drain blood samples," the man smiles politely at him.

"So you're not a real doctor?" Kurt objects.

"It's perfectly normal to be afraid of needles," the man says instead. "I promise to do this as painless as possible."

"But you're not a doctor!" Kurt repeats.

The man nods wordlessly, and scoots his rolling chair closer to Kurt. He prods his elbows on his thighs, very firm thighs, Kurt notice, and with folded hands he patiently and with detail explains the procedure of taking a blood sample to Kurt.

"So to answer your question," he concludes, "I'm not yet a graduated doctor, I'm so far merely taking shifts in between classes in this lab and in other departments doing whatever I'm **qualified** to do," he stresses. "I can get you a nurse instead, if that makes you more comfortable, but he won't have a better education than I do for this particular task."

Kurt feels properly chastised, and nods reluctantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and automatically begins to roll up his right shirtsleeve.

"Not a problem, Mr. Hummel," the man smiles disarmingly. "As I said, a lot of people are afraid of needles, and I commend you for protecting yourself by making sure you are seeing qualified staff." He gets up from his chair, and walks over to the sink to wash his hands.

It feels like a slap to his face, Kurt's imagination hears the scolding of someone who's had promiscuous and unprotected sex.

"I'm not a slut!" Kurt blurts out.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying safe sex," Almost-Dr. Anderson says noncommittally. And there it is again, the guilt stabbing at Kurt's stomach.

Kurt hisses when the cold disinfecting cloth is brushed against his underarm, and instinctively jerks the arm to himself.

"I'm sorry," Kurt's own Dr. Dreamy murmurs. "That's quite some strength you've got, do you work out?" he asks, with his palm open as if waiting for Kurt to willingly place his limb in his power again.

"Mostly dancing. And stage fight-classes," he laughs. The other quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Don't tell me you're enrolled at Hogwarts?"

It's a stupid joke, but Kurt laughs nevertheless, and places his arm in the fine young man's hands.

"I'm in a performing arts-school. I'm not sure if it's worth the money, though, if you could this easily spot that I'm afraid of needles. I did try to fake bravado."

"Maybe I'm just good at reading people," he shrugs. "Although I did for a while consider pursuing a career as an actor, so maybe I know your tricks," he winks. He puts on rubber gloves, and with a polite warning disinfects part of Kurt's arm again.

"I thought most failed actors became waiters," Kurt says, trying for humour, but hearing how he just sounds rude.

"I didn't say I failed at acting," the man looks pointedly at Kurt. "I chose a different career. I wanted to be a doctor because I felt I owed it to the profession, when it helped me. Watching George Clooney in ER helped me realize how very gay I am. Now I want to help someone in return," he tells Kurt calmly. It should sound cheesy, but coming from this man it only sounds genuine, admirable even.

"Except for the bad acting classes, do you enjoy school?" the Semi-God Semi-Doctor asks, and taps a finger to locate his vein.

"It's been great, like a dream come true. But I'm dreading going back for my last year, though, having to see my cheating ex there," Kurt sighs, and shifts awkwardly in his chair at the tightening feeling of the tourniquet around his bicep.

"Ouch, I'm sorry. But don't let one asshole ruin everything for you. If they couldn't respect your relationship, at least show them you're a better performer than they'll ever be. Is that why you're taking a full STD-test?"

"Yeah," Kurt sighs. "When I found out he and I didn't define monogamous the same, I kicked him out and booked an appointment with my GP all in once."

"I assume she went through all the control questions with you?"

"Yes, she did, and there's no reason to assume the worst. We didn't ever go bareback, and he swore he wore condoms with the others," Kurt blushes, almost as fiercely as he did when revealing the most intimate details with his doctor.

"But better safe than sorry," he nods. "That's very mature of you. It shows character, and I'm sure you'll manage to ignore him in favour of graduating to stardom," he says, and Kurt snorts. "Hey, don't do that, I bet you're amazing. Why don't you sing something for me?"

Kurt gives him his best "are you serious"-look, but Douglas Ross glares back. He rolls his eyes, but secretly he's glad to sing – he loves impromptu performances almost as much as Rachel does.

" _Please don't come around talking 'bout that you love me, 'cause that love shit just ain't for me. And I don't wanna hear that you adore me, and I know that all you're doing is running your mind games. Don't you know my game beats these games? So your best bet is to be straight with me_ ," he sings with as much sass and attitude possible while sitting in a chair.

"Oh my gosh, I love Pink!" Hippocrates exclaims. " _There you go, looking pitiful, just because I let you go. There you go, talking 'bout you want me back_ ," he sings.

"I don't want him back, though," Kurt giggles at the medical student that could easily have been accepted at Kurt's school too, judging by the snippet of singing he were just treated with.

"And you're not getting this back either," he says, showing him a tube of Kurt's red blood.

"How did you…?"

"Magic!" Mr.-Dr. Anderson whispers excitedly, making big eyes and jazz hands.

"Did **you** go to Hogwarts?" Kurt snorts.

"Sadly, I'm still waiting for my letter," he pouts ridiculously, and Kurt works hard to convince himself that he does not have a doctor fetish. "Hold this," he instructs, and presses a cotton ball to Kurt's microscopic wound. Kurt obediently does as told, while the other man writes something on the tube and places it in a stand with other blood samples.

"Are you okay?" he asks once he's done doing whatever almost-doctors do to test tubes.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for being so rude earlier," Kurt apologizes. Now that the dreaded needle is behind him, he can see he behaved less than stellar.

"I've heard worse," he chuckles. "There are some drama queens out there."

"Oh, so you've met some of my classmates?" Kurt quips, earning himself a round of rich laugher from the not-patient.

"I'd love to hear more about life and living at a performing arts-school someday, it must beat the drama at med school."

Kurt looks at him contemplatively for a moment.

"You're not technically a doctor," he states, and Not-Dr. Anderson furrows his eyebrows, after all they just had this discussion. "So technically, I'm not your patient."

"Okay," the gorgeous man nods, as if waiting for the punch line.

"So would it really be considered a conflict of interest, or something unprofessional, if I asked for your number?" Kurt asks boldly. He'd like to blame it on low blood pressure after he was relieved of some vital blood, but he's just acting out of character. New York City is big; he doesn't have to see this man ever again if he turns him down or bans him from this hospital.

Blaine tilts his head and looks at him, before swinging his chair to a drawer where he takes out a writing pad. He bends over and writes something on it.

"You look dizzy," he murmurs. "It's important to keep hydrated and focus on your blood sugar. Regular meals throughout the day, maybe a good steak for dinner," he suggests. "There's of course also pills to take for a consistent low blood pressure, if the food is not an option," he adds in afterthought, and hands Kurt the folded note, what Kurt expects is a prescription.

Kurt thanks him for his help, tries not to feel rejected, and walks out. It's not until he's on the subway that he unfolds the note to doublecheck. And there he sees the name of a restaurant, an address, "8PM" with a question mark, and something that must be a telephone number.


	6. Like A Cashmere Scarf

**I sing in a semi-professional choir, and yeserday we performed for free at a concert raising money for a good cause. Right before the concert begun, the cute drummer removed a scarf from a piano, which someone in my choir had taken off during sound check. Then this happened. In my head.**

 **This story is AU first meeting, and Unique didn't go to McKinley.**

 **Prompts are accepted and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The organization mentioned is a figment of my imagination.**

* * *

When _Queens of Queens_ had called him, Kurt knew he couldn't say no. Participating in a charity concert raised by the biggest LGBTQ+-organization in Queens, known for focusing their attention and aid to queers and queens under 18, hit right dab centre in his heart. Access to a café for kids like himself back in high school would have changed a lot. A safe haven, somewhere to meet others in similar situations, share experiences, find some support, or just get away from reality for a cup of coffee. And that's not the only thing _Queens of Queens_ does. They have an online support-service; an ally who'll reply to your e-mail within 48 hours. They organize two festivals each year, with a low entry fee, and a long weekend packed with concerts, panel debates, info classes, speed dates, and seminars in self-defence, safe sex, equal rights, political questions, and so on. No way Kurt isn't going to perform for free, when they're organizing a charity concert to raise money from the community to strengthen their work.

In fact, Kurt had been so enthusiastic about the concert, he'd ended up volunteering. They already had all guest performers invited, and a committee working on the program. But they could need more hands to get the concert location ready. So Kurt had spent all of his Saturday carrying chairs, placing them in neat rows, decorate the room with candles, rainbow streamers and led-chains, folding info leaflets, checking audio systems, and all the small and huge things needed for a concert like that.

Today, the day of the benefit-concert, he showed up early, both to rehearse his two songs with the pianist, and to give a hand. He'd suggested selling coffee and cookies as a way to raise even more money, and in return gotten kitchen service. Not that he minds – he loves to bake, he has lots of favourite receipts to use, and after all the manual labour last night, it's nice to rest his arms with a spatula and a whisk.

"Darling Kurt?"

Kurt is interrupted from plating cookies by one of the executives; a fierce transwoman named Unique, who endeared herself to Kurt the very first second they met because of her genuine and colourful praise of his hat.

"We're starting in ten minutes. Would you care to act like one of our performing guests, and go backstage with the rest of them? I'm sure your cookies are divine, but we'd much rather hear what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours," she grins, and again proves how she has a knack for making sweet compliments sound dirty.

"I'm a man of many talents, and can impress with both my fingers and my lips," Kurt banters back on his way to the sink to wash his hands, and Unique blinks her long eyelashes at him.

"Damn, it's a pity I'm more woman than you can handle," she sighs dramatically.

"You're just enough woman for me, and you know it."

"But I'm not **the** woman in your life," she sighs again, but winks playfully.

"There will only ever be one woman in my life, and that's my late mom."

"You're just too cute," she gushes, and pinches his cheek almost painfully. "Now scoot backstage, we have a concert to run to weasel as much money as possible out of the pockets of all the lovely people who came to listen."

Kurt salutes her, which earns him a playful swat to his toosh, and he power-walks out of the kitchen, through the main hall where the audience is seated, and passes the stage to get to the side door and backstage area. But from the corner of his eye, he notices a speck of bright colour on the grand piano. Effortlessly, he jumps up on the stage to take in the disturbing mess – that was not how he decorated the stage last night. The offending object turns out to be a bright red scarf, as soft to touch as it looks when Kurt picks it up. There's also some sheet music under the scarf, so Kurt takes a calculated risk, and guesses it belongs to one of the other performers. He moves the sheets to the music stand, but brings the scarf with him.

He makes sure the door is properly closed behind him, so that no sound can leak out to the audience.

"Did someone forget their soft, but attention-seeking scarf right on the piano clearly visible for anyone to see?" he asks, probably more sarcastically than needed, but he's in that kind of mood.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, that's mine," a warm voice enthuses, and the owner of the voice approaches Kurt with an apologetic smile on his face, accompanied with wide, expressive eyes and a pair of eyebrows who utter their own excuse all alone. "I got so distracted by the music, and forgot completely about it. That's so unprofessional of me," the man says, and it almost sounds as if he's scolding himself.

When he comes up to Kurt, he notices the man is a tad shorter, but he has charisma in buckets and stole Kurt's attention from the second he opened his mouth. Kurt hopes he gets to see someone that captivating perform tonight.

"Yeah, well, the scarf looked too nice to be misplaced, so I thought I'd rescue it," Kurt mutters awkwardly, because he was ready to bitch out some diva about paying attention to all their stuff. He didn't expect to be faced with sincerely sorry eyes wrapped up in package of short, compact and hot.

"It's my favourite," Mr. You-May-Play-Me-Like-An-Oboe murmurs, and Kurt is this close to pinching himself instead of making an ass of himself. He manages to act human enough to hand the scarf over to the man. "I wear it before all my performances. I guess it's my lucky scarf," he blushes, and Kurt finds him utterly adorable. Not adorable enough to let him in on the lucky underwear he has under his skinnies, though.

"I may have a few procedures I need to go through before I go on stage too," Kurt murmurs back.

"Oh, you're one of the performers too?" Mr. Let Me Wrap Myself 'Round Your Neck Like A Cashmere Scar enthuses. "I'm Blaine Anderson," he grins, and extends the hand not holding his scarf.

"I'm Kurt Hummel," Kurt replies, and wow, yeah, if he thought the scarf was soft, that's nothing compared to his hands.

"So how did you get involved in this benefactor?" Blaine asks, and gestures to a couch. Kurt follows him like a homesick puppy. Watching Blaine bend over to secure his scarf safely in his satchel is enough to forget what he was just asked. "Were you already involved with _Queens for Queens_ , or did they recruit you otherwise?" Blaine adds, and pats the seat next to him for Kurt to sit down.

"It was the snowball effect, I guess," Kurt shrugs, and sits down. He stills feels weird talking about his accomplishments. "I graduated from a performing arts-school two years ago, and have been lucky enough to work with some theatres after that. And I guess you find three quarters of the gay community in the arts industry," he chuckles. "Someone must have liked what I do well enough to mention my name to these fine people."

"Do you have an agent?" Blaine asks, looking amused at him.

"Not yet, it hasn't seemed necessary so far. Why?" Kurt shrugs confused. Is Blaine offering? Kurt's pretty sure he remembers his name from the program, but maybe he's both performing and executing.

"I was hoping you had someone doing your PR. It's okay to brag about your accomplishments, when it's the truth."

"And how do you know what the truth is, Mr. Anderson?"

"Are you trying to Matrix me?"

"Not intentionally, no. Sorry?"

"No, don't be, it's a worn out joke, so I'm glad I'm just me, and not The One," Blaine shakes his in amusement.

"You don't want to be someone's _the one_?" Kurt asks playfully. And yes, he's fishing for relationship status, so sue him!

"I would very much like to be the one for someone who is my one and only. But saving the entire world, that's a terribly huge responsibility," he sighs. "Just imagine if something happened in New Jersey, and I'm sitting here in Queens – that's quite some distance. And then we have the west coast, and entire continents. No, I can't do that. It's enough pressure trying to make it as a recording artist," he shakes his head seriously, making Kurt laugh pleased.

"Don't you think saving the world would be a nice break from cutthroat record company-contracts, fights for quick radio spots and endless underpaid gigs?"

"It sounds as if you are familiar with the perks of this industry?"

"I'm quite familiar with the fun of waiting for a phone that never calls when they've said 'we'll call you'. I'm too familiar with the instant rejection during an audition because I don't 'meet their vision'. And my partner in bed is a stack of manuscripts," Kurt quips, not meaning to come off as quite that depressing, but fortunately Blaine simply laughs.

"It's a glamorous life, isn't it?"

"It is. But then someone calls because they want me to contribute at a benefit concert like this, and all the time, money, energy, sweat and tears spent on this path seems so worth it if I can help someone, you know?"

"I know," Blaine murmurs. "But you must have managed more than waiting tables to get that phone call in the first place?"

So Kurt tries to give him a more proud account of what he's done lately, from being accepted to NYADA to how he's currently in the chorus of an off-Broadway musical.

"I have bigger ambitions, of course, but I'll walk the steps necessary. And how about you, where on the path from busking on the subway to international pop sensation are you currently struggling?" Kurt tries to smile with a hint of flirting, and turns in his seat to sit more towards Blaine.

"I just graduated, and contrary to popular belief, the record companies aren't lined up out in the school yard to hand you a contract with your diploma," Blaine snorts. "But I try to play as many gigs as possible, and I'm actually writing a few songs for other artists. It's a way to get my name out there, at least."

"Weren't you the one who just said something about working on the PR-strategy?" Kurt teases after his modest speech.

"I guess it's easier to pay my brother's advice forward to others in need, than to follow it myself. Which is ironic, considering my brother has self-esteem to spare, so he could be agent for the both of us."

"Blaine Anderson?" Unique's strong voice interrupts. "You're up next," she says coquettishly, and with a charming smile for her he gets up from the couch.

"It was nice meeting you, Kurt Hummel. Maybe I'll see you later?"

"I think you may," Kurt parries, and a blushing Blaine disappears towards the stage. Unique plops down where Blaine just sat.

"Is he the next man in your life?" she asks straightforward, making some weird face Kurt doesn't want to interpret. He gets up to listen to Blaine from the wings, and is instantly captivated by how he interacts with the audience before beginning a slow rendition of _Do Ya Think I'm Sexy_.

"Who knows?" Kurt whispers to her. "Maybe he's even The One."

Kurt's glad he's gotten to know Unique, because one way or another he's getting that lovely man's phone number. If Blaine has to leave before they can talk again, he's willing to bribe Unique with both cookies and a home-made dress in exchange for ten digits. A man with impeccable taste in scarfs and music is not someone to let out of sight.


	7. Finn is Fascinated

**This is the weirdest thing I've ever written, and I really hope I won't offend anyone. It's just an idea that's been floating in my messy brain for literally years, and I finally caved in and wrote it down. It's... Not my usual style, but I hope you can take it in good spirit.**

 **Warning: Finn is alive in this story, otherwise things follow canon pretty much, if that is even needed for the backdrop of this AU.**

 **Prompts for this advent calendar is accepted and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

Blaine can't help himself, but has to stop Kurt, pull him flush against his chest and plant a sweet kiss on his lips. He can't care about being in the airport in Columbus, when they've travelled back home to Ohio with such wonderful news. Ever since he heard those three wonderful letters Y-E-S, he's been on cloud number nine. And now they are finally ready to share the news with their families. Blaine obviously knew they were doing pretty well in their relationship, but now that the biggest change in life of them all are close ahead of them, he can't believe they've survived for so long being just Blaine and Kurt.

Kurt yelps surprised, but grins at him. He's been teasing Blaine all day, since they woke up in their apartment in Queens, throughout their extended morning routines – because today it felt extra important to look good, in the cab ride to LaGuardia, while they waited for their flight, on the plane, and now in Ohio. Blaine can't exactly blame him; he knows he's been showing off what Kurt long time ago dubbed his puppy-antics. He's overly joyous and impatient, he needs to tell someone how great their life is, and Kurt had refused to share this kind of news over the phone, not even Skype was good enough for this.

So they are headed for Lima, where they'll visit first. Blaine had for a moment worried that Rachel, Sam, Santana, Elliot and their other New York-friends would be upset that they left the city without sharing anything with them – after all, they are also family, blood irrelevant. But Kurt had rolled his eyes and said they'd just have to deal, they'd take bigger parts in the news later.

When they get to the familiar Hudmel-driveway, there are no cars there, and dread tames the butterflies in Blaine's stomach. He's pretty sure he can't wait even one more minute to tell anyone, and it would be a shame if it was the old neighbour, widower Mr. Johnson, who got to hear it first. He's pretty sure it would lead to Kurt filing for a divorce, even if they're not even married yet.

Kurt takes their luggage out of the trunk before Blaine can gather his wits, and pays the cab driver before he takes Blaine's hand in his. With a smirk, he kisses his hand, lips lingering on his shiny ring as if he knows how that little band of metal is able to calm Blaine down (he probably knows). Blaine knows Kurt isn't as unaffected by this as he is, he's just the more levelheaded of them, and not one who easily displays his emotions compared to Blaine. But the first night, with their new little secret kept safely between them, they had cried and laughed together, and made love for hours just because life was too good to want anything to end that day.

"Hello?" Kurt asks into the hallway, tugging Blaine with him. It's an early Saturday afternoon, and when Kurt spoke with his family on the phone earlier this week, it sounded as if they had no other plans for the weekend but to stay home and relax.

"Hello?" Finn's familiar voice calls back, and a set of feet is thundering down the stairs. "Dudes, what are you doing here?" he grins, and managed to pull them both in a hug. "Nobody told me you're coming."

"Nobody knew we were coming," Kurt grins. "Surprise!"

"Wow," Finn beams, and steps back to look at them. "It feels as if I haven't seen you guys in ages."

"We're sorry we couldn't come home for Thanksgivings," Blaine apologizes. They had decided to save the money needed for expensive flight tickets during the weekend when half of the American population seems to be travelling. They'll need the money for bigger things soon, after all.

"So is this your Christmas visit?" Finn asks confused. It's only middle of December, but Kurt and Blaine found ridiculously cheap flight tickets for this weekend.

"No, you're still coming to New York to celebrate with us. This is an impromptu visit," Kurt explains, and gives Blaine a warm smile when he takes his coat to hang with his own. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

It tugs at Blaine's heartstring to see the two young men interact. He can't pinpoint when it happened, but some time along the ride, the two stopped using the "step", and only called each other as brothers. It had been a slip of his tongue when Kurt called Carole mom, but her reaction had prompted him to continue. If anyone should be able to have two moms in his lifetime, it should be Kurt, who walks in pride parades and uses his growing Broadway-fame to advocate for LGBTQ surrogacy and adoption rights. His adaption of that particular title had been the nudge Finn needed to ask Burt if it was okay that he called him Dad. All of that are some years behind them, but even if they are closer to 30 than 20 now, they still use the dear and familiar callnames

"Mom is picking up an extra shift at the hospital to get more days off when we're going to visit you, and Dad decided to spend the day in the garage."

"So they won't be home for a while?"

"No, I promised to have dinner ready around six, and that's still four hours away," Finn counts, glancing at the wall clock. He had met a sweet girl in college, and they got married before graduation. But six months ago she had left him, claiming she was tired of always coming second and never measuring up to his first love. So right now he lives with their parents, while trying to figure out what to do when. Considering how Rachel had abruptly decided to spend the holiday in New York when she learned about the Hummel-Anderson's plans, Blaine has a suspicion where this will go.

Blaine glances out of the window, wondering if Mr. Johnson is home. He _needs_ to tell someone. As if Kurt can sense his urgency – when in reality he probably just knows his man very well, he squeezes his hand. He looks at him with a patient smile and knowing eyes.

"Oh man, are you doing that whole talking without speaking-thing now? It totally freaks me out, always," Finn grins, and takes their suitcases to the living room. "Are you still coffee-addicts?" he asks, already heading for the kitchen.

"You said you wanted to tell your dad first," Blaine whispers hurriedly.

"But I know you want to tell anyone, and Finn is a much better alternative than Mr. Johnson," Kurt smirks.

"Are you sure?" Blaine leans in closer, and wraps his arms around Kurt's shoulders.

"I'm sure. I love you, we're in this together, and I know it's important for you to start sharing our good news. And it's not as if Finn'll need to keep it a secret for long either," he smirks.

Just then, Finn re-enters with a tray of three coffee mugs and a plate with cookies.

"What's the secret?"

"Sit down," Kurt nods towards the coffee table. Finn takes the big, comfortable arm chair, and Blaine and Kurt curl up in the couch together, Blaine's arm wrapped tightly around Kurt and coffee mugs in their hands. Blaine knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he really doesn't care.

"What's going on?" Finn laughs. "I can tell you're happy. Did you both get lead roles on Broadway, playing against each other or something?"

"Well, there will be new roles in our lives shortly," Kurt drawls, and Blaine giggles, hiding his face in Kurt's shoulder.

"You're weird asses, both of you," Finn laughs with him, but still looking confused.

"Tell him, honey," Kurt offers, and scoots closer to his fiancé, one hand resting across his stomach.

Blaine takes a deep breath, before he blurts out an entirely different sentence than he had prepared.

"Finn… You're going to be an uncle!"

"What?" He looks from one to the other, and a growing smile is threatening to split his face in two. "You're having a baby? For real?"

Blaine can feel Kurt nod against his chest, and nods eagerly with him.

"When?"

"Due date is actually my birthday, May 27th," Kurt beams. They had waited 'till the first trimester was safe behind them before telling anyone.

Finn looks at them both with a quizzical look, eyes wandering from Kurt to Blaine to Kurt again.

"3 months," he mumbles, before his eyes land on Kurt, and he winks. "It hardly shows yet," he grins.

"What shows?" Blaine asks confused. It's an understatement to say it's not the reaction he expected.

"Oh shit!" Finn suddenly exclaims, and yanks Blaine's coffee cup out of his hand. "It's not decaf!"

"I don't drink…"

"You shouldn't drink regular coffee, the baby's gonna be all hyper and turn Kurt crazy, because you're already like some misbehaving puppy although house-trained," he recites, words that sound airily familiar.

"What the hell is going on, Finn?" Kurt barks, but Finn is already off to the kitchen. "What the hell is going on?" he asks again, more calmly, and directed towards Blaine.

"He's your brother!" Blaine defends himself, hands raised disarmingly. He has to take responsibility whenever Cooper says or does something insane, so it's only fair that Kurt do the same for his brother.

"I couldn't find decaf, but I've started the water kettle to make you some herbal tea," Finn grins pleased and throws himself in the chair. "So how are you guys?"

"I want my coffee back," Blaine whines to Kurt. The so-called brew on the plane was horrible, and he could need a proper mug. After they got Burt and Carole the new coffee machine for their wedding anniversary, Blaine has longed to go back to Lima for that reason alone.

"He's already gotten cravings?" Finn asks Kurt knowingly. "I remember Quinn had those."

"Finn…" Kurt sighs. "What are you talking about?"

"Was I wrong? None of you said anything, but you said that time at Santana's party how you prefer to t…"

"Stop!" Kurt commands loudly, and Blaine cringes. Spin the bottle after tequila shots at Santana's place had lead them to reveal far more about their sex life than ever imagined. Unfortunately, some of the party guests had been able to remember some of the details next day and every day ever after.

"I still don't understand what you are talking about, and how our… very private life affects that?"

"You shouldn't have told us all that if it was so private," Finn grins, and Blaine really, really wishes he could remember something, anything Finn said that night.

"I'm getting dizzy," Blaine groans. What he thought was going to be the happiest news to share since he proposed to Kurt, is turning out to be the most confusing thing he's ever been though – and he's experienced quite a lot of madness both at Dalton, McKinley, and of course in New York.

"Do you need to throw up?" Finn asks concerned. "Should I get you a bucket?"

"Finn," Kurt sighs, but there's something in his tone that makes Finn listen. "What's going on in your head?"

"I'm just trying to take care of Blaine. To be honest, I thought you would be all Mother Hen on him considering his situation. You're way calmer than I would have dreamed off," Finn shrugs.

"I truly love him, and do my best to be good for him and take care of him, just like he loves me and cares for me. But what the hell are you talking about?" Kurt asks louder.

"He's carrying your child, Kurt! Even if I weren't the father, I remember quite a lot from Quinn's pregnancy."

"Wait, you think I'm pregnant?" Blaine exclaims.

"It won't be a secret for long, you're beginning to show," Finn winks.

"I don't believe this," Blaine whispers, and gets up from the couch. He could need that mug of coffee now. With a huge shot of rum in it.

"Finn…" Kurt groans. "What… Why… When… I don't even…"

Blaine can't hear any voices from the living room, and assumes Kurt's as dumbstruck as he is. He prepares a coffee with rum for Kurt, too. They deserve it after this mindfuck. He knows everything about Quinn's pregnancy, and how Finn was convinced he managed to get her pregnant after jizzing his boxer shorts in the hot tub. He also revealed a lack of anatomical knowledge when he tried to convince the football players that his mom was getting surgery to remove her prostate, so that he could sneak off to something Glee-related. But to think that Blaine or Kurt could actually get pregnant? They had great sex ed-classes at Dalton, but that was a private school. If Mr. Schue had been responsible for that at McKinley? Or even worse, Blaine shivers, if Miss Pillsbury was the one trying to teach them something? Then he can understand a lot. But still not how Finn can believe men can get pregnant.

"Here you go," he murmurs, and sits down next to his fiancé. He tries to sit with his back straight, and hold in his stomach. Kurt looks at him from the corner of his eye, and grins at him knowingly. Blaine's pretty sure he'll get a speech later tonight about how sexy he is, which he always gets whenever he has his bouts of body-issues. Fortunately, the speeches always lead to excellent sex. Maybe Kurt'll knock him up this time. Blaine snickers at the thought, and Kurt looks questioningly at him.

"Finn," Blaine begins carefully. "Men can't get pregnant. We don't have ovaries and uterus. Or any other parts needed."

"But you don't need them," Finn rolls his eyes. "Gays can get pregnant, if they have the carrier-gene."

"Excuse me?" Kurt raises the most judgmental eyebrow Blaine's ever seen.

"Yeah, I read about it, so you don't have to explain anything to me, I get it," Finn beams proudly. "It's a dormant, hereditary gene, it doesn't happen often, but Blaine must be one of the lucky few. Have you tried to get pregnant too, Kurt?"

"I don't believe this conversation," Kurt mutters.

"Where did you read about this?" Blaine asks calmly, patiently. He tells himself it's good practice for when they have a three years-old.

"Sam emailed it to me, it was a story about Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski, and they got pregnant. He also sent me a story about Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, and they got pregnant," Finn says in his most duh-voice.

"He fed you fanfiction," Blaine sighs. He knows very well what kind of literature Sam enjoys. He used to read fanfic for Sam as bedtime-stories, but after he moved out Sam developed some bizarre fascination with mpreg-stories.

"Yeah, he said it was like behind the scenes-stuff and what happens after the cameras stop rolling. When the heroes can calm down and focus on families," Finn beams.

"Finn. You do realize that the Avengers aren't real?" Kurt asks concerned.

"Of course," Finn scoffs. "But I also know that a lot of the stuff they do is based on science and is plausible."

"Male pregnancy still isn't even remotely plausible," Blaine sighs.

"It isn't?" Finn looks honestly disappointed now.

"No. You've read fantasy and creative imagination, like fairytales for horny teenagers," Kurt snorts.

"Hey!" Blaine objects. Mpreg isn't his most visited tab, but he's quite enjoyed a lot of well-written fanfiction, especially from the Harry Potter-universe. Although he will never ever ship Harry and Draco.

"I know, honey, amidst the fanficcing fuckers there are some really promising authors," Kurt placates him. "But it still doesn't make you pregnant."

"No," Blaine shakes his head. "None of us are pregnant, and we'll never be pregnant."

"Huh," Finn exhales, sounding disappointed. "But you're getting a baby, right?"

"Yes!" Kurt hisses, and in fear of being front-row witness to a brotherly fight, Blaine decides to butt in.

"We went to a doctor, both of us donated the sperm, and the mix was inseminated to a very kind woman who had volunteered to be our surrogate," he says calmly, keeping the explanation easy and superficial for now. How Quinn donated the eggs, or all about the interview-process to find the surrogate, and all the money savings involved, can come later.

"Huh," Finn says again. "I didn't know they could do that. Cool!"


	8. Dench

**I had to say goodbye to my dog earlier this week, and it's been a difficult time for me. As I've so often done, I turned to writing to help me digest and put words to some of my feelings. So this is a sad story, although not necessarily about my own dog. This one shot is set to the I Cried For You/Can You Love Me Again-universe, so warning for spoilers! This particular one shot is set to the future, some time after when my story will ultimately end. So for those who doesn't want to know what happens down the road, you should wait for a different update.**

 **Prompts for the Advent-project are appreciated and considered.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

The first thing Blaine notices when he steps into their shared apartment is how wrongly silent it is. Nobody is there to greet him as usual, nobody is singing their praises for his return, nobody is standing so close to him that it's difficult to get off his coat, hat and boots, nobody is there to make him feel unconditionally loved just because he has come home again.

He swallows heavily, and walks into the living room, where he expects to find Kurt.

He's not wrong.

But the image he faces is still so wrong. He knew what he came home to; he won't forget that particular phone call from Kurt in quite some while. But knowing is far from understanding. Being told something isn't the same as taking it in, which – he realizes – is the case now. A small part of him had been expecting to come home to everything being normal, and to be greeted by the two loves of his life.

Kurt is curled up under a quilt in their couch, and it's not difficult to see he's been crying for a while.

"Cuore mio," Blaine murmurs, and joins Kurt on the leather couch. They had ended up changing their fabric couch for this one, because it was easier to remove the dog hairs – at least they did so after Kurt admitted to both himself and to Blaine that yes, the no dog in the couch-rule had been ditched for good.

He opens his arms, and Kurt leans into them, tugging at the quilt until it's covering them both. Blaine fumbles to find his fiancé's hands, and bumps into something already between Kurt's fingers. Kurt sniffs, and extricates his hands out in the open air. His fingers are curled around her embroidered collar.

"She's gone," Kurt hiccups, and Blaine wraps his hands around Kurt's. He swallows heavily again, and stops fighting the tears.

He had been away with his band when he got the first unscheduled phone call from Kurt. Dench, their 11 years old dog, hadn't been acting like herself, and Kurt was worried. Blaine didn't and doesn't know more about keeping a dog or veterinarian medicine than his fiancé, but he's glad he was involved and informed, even if he was too far away to be of any real help, playing a gig in Chicago. He might as well have been with his grandparents in Italy. This was Friday night, and Kurt kept him updated throughout the weekend, while the band gave various concerts on different stages during the big music festival. Blaine got both phone calls and texts with reports – when it seemed as if Dench hadn't heard Kurt get up from bed and didn't arrive for her breakfast as usual. When she had been starring at the door to the spare room they kept as primarily office and secondarily guest room, and when Kurt opened it for her she went inside to pee, something she's never done inside before. When she didn't finish her food bowl. When she refused to eat at all. When she threw up. When she drank more than usual, threw it up, and then drank some more. When she fell out of the couch. The constant stream of texts and phone calls was worrying Blaine, she was getting sicker and sicker too quickly. Their beloved dog didn't just have a cold or whatever "under the weather"-thing dogs get. This was serious. He tried to google symptoms, but quickly exited the browser when he got treated to the most disturbing possibilities, all fatale.

Monday morning Kurt took Dench to the vet, in a taxi because she had been weak and struggled just to get out of the building. So different from the dog they both knew to jump down the stairs, barking in eagerness, as if she was yelling at them for taking their sweet time and holding her back with their simplistic two legged-walk.

The kind vet had examined Dench thoroughly, but early on shared her assumption about her being too sick to save. After getting the test results back, she had sadly told Kurt that Dench was in a late stage with kidney failure, and there was nothing she could do for her. It had progressed too far, and considering the dog's development duing the weekend, it was clear this was an aggressive illness, and she didn't have much time left.

Kurt had bravely taken Dench back home, knowing Blaine would be home the next day, wanting them to be together when they had to say goodbye to her. But Dench got much worse during the afternoon, and Kurt was worried she was in pain. She was now just lying on the floor, not reacting to anything, not even the meatballs Kurt made and tried to tempt her with – and those were usually something she'd jump up on the kitchen counter to steal. Kurt had managed to catch Blaine before he went on stage, and they had agreed that it wasn't worth keeping her alive for 18 more hours until Blaine was back home. He would easily sacrifice his favourite guitar to be there with Kurt through this, and to say a finale farewell to Dench. But he loves the dog too much to prolong her misery for his own sake. So Kurt had taken a new taxi back to the vet with Dench, and returned home all alone.

Blaine had tried to get earlier plane tickets, without luck, and had to wait impatiently for the booked midday flight. Monday night had been their last gig, and because they expected it to be late, and then maybe some festival celebration, they hadn't booked morning tickets. Blaine regretted that now, knowing Kurt has been alone with his grief all night and all day. Somehow, Blaine managed to push it to the back of his mind, get on that stage and charm the crowds who bought tickets to see them. He could pretend he hadn't just lost the best investment he ever made, he could pretend he didn't know what was going on all the way back home in New York, he used his acting to give them the frontman, and not the private Blaine digesting devastating news.

But now that he is back in their apartment, reality is slamming him like a punch to his gut, and he can feel it's getting more and more difficult to breathe, until tears are streaming down his cheeks.

"I miss her so badly," Kurt sobs, and futilely dries his cheek against Blaine's shirt. As if he can care about that now. He misses her too – he's been home for merely fifteen minutes, and her absence is already glaring at him. She would have wagged her tail eagerly from the moment she heard his key in the lock, and she would have jumped into the couch trying to squeeze herself in between them. He misses the sound of her paws on the wooden floor, and the nails making a click click-sound because Blaine has forgotten to trim them and Kurt refuses to do so after he cut too much the first time and made her bleed from a claw. He misses her heavy head resting on his thigh to remind him about her presence. He misses running his hand through the long, soft coat, and then removing black coat from his light pants.

"I miss her too," he chokes. He doesn't blame Kurt for letting her go before he was home; they agreed, and her wellbeing came first. But it feels so surreal that she isn't here, when she was. And he hates that Kurt had to go through this on his own, had to make the decisions and watch her get sick, and face the loneliness when he returned to their apartment only with her collar and leash in his satchel. A concerned voice murmurs in the background of Blaine's head to keep an eye on Kurt, if this is something that'll make him relapse, give him a setback, boost the latent depression. They have been spared for sad and difficult things for quite some time, but Blaine isn't sure if Kurt is strong enough to deal with this yet. It may have been Blaine who bought the dog and took her home as a surprise, but she quickly became Kurt's dog. Dench forced her way into Kurt's heart, and he was like mush around her within 48 hours – after letting Blaine sleep on the couch the first night. He had been so angry that Blaine could bring a new roommate to their lives just like that, without asking him, and then topping it all by clumsily defending himself that he bought her to keep Kurt company and to give him a reason to get out of their apartment. Kurt had of course been insulted, claiming he didn't need some kind of therapy dog, and Blaine should mind his own business and let Kurt deal with his things in his own pace.

The next morning had found Kurt still bitter, giving Blaine the silent treatment. He had probably been too angry to be properly focused, so when he had made himself breakfast he spilled half a box of cereal on the floor. That wouldn't have been such a big issue, if their vacuumer hadn't stopped working the week before, and Blaine had forgotten to buy a new one – and with Kurt in the middle of one of his spells where he hadn't left their apartment and had shut himself away from everything, including shopping. Blaine had seen the frustration on Kurt's face, even if he had kept his distance, and had checked his phone to see if he had time to help Kurt pick the tiny bits from the floor before running to the subway. He had been out of time, and knowing how down Kurt was these days he had expected the cereal to still be on the floor when he would come home from classes. He had forgotten about Dench, though, who visibly perked at the sound of something hitting the floor. She had scrambled up from the floor, pushed her way past Kurt, and acted like a canine vacuum machine. Within minutes, the floor had been spotless, if you ignored a slob of drool.

Kurt had looked from the floor to the dog, and back on the floor, shrugged, grinned, and petted her. From then on, they were inseparable. Considering how much time Kurt spent in their apartment – first merely existing, and later working from his home office, he spent a lot of time with the dog. He saw her more than he saw Blaine, and probably told her things he didn't know how to share with Blaine. Which was okay. Blaine bought her for him, for this purpose. But he doesn't know what'll happen now that Dench is gone. He wonders if he still has Dench's breeder's phone number, to get Kurt a new dog as soon as possible.

He brushes his cheek against his shoulder to get some of the tears away.

"It hurts _here_ ," Kurt coughs, and clutches his pyjama shirt right over his heart.

"I know, me too," Blaine sniffs. It's no exaggeration. It really hurts to breathe, his heart aches. He hasn't felt this kind of pain since he thought Kurt was breaking up with him back at Dalton.

"You think she forgave me?" Kurt sniffs, talking into Blaine's chest.

"For what?" Blaine asks confused, and sniffs too.

"For not liking her when you brought her here."

That's six years ago.

"She was never angry with you in the first place."

Kurt is silent for a long while, just the mixed sounds of their crying. There really isn't anything to say yet. The grief is still too raw.

"Should we have done anything different to help her?" Kurt whispers eventually. Dench had been perfectly fine when Blaine kissed them both farewell on Thursday, not showing any signs of anything being off.

"Didn't the vet say these things could blossom dangerously quickly?" He can feel Kurt nod against his chest. "Then you did everything right. I like to think she had a good life with us."

Kurt refused to give her anything but the best food, his focus on healthy eating including their dog. He hand-sew a thick blanket for her to sleep on in the couch to minimize the side-effects of shedding – which turned out futile, as she preferred to sleep on them, with all of her 93 pounds. That's when they got a new more coat-friendly couch. Kurt took her to yearly check-ups around the same time Burt had his annual appointment with his cardiologist. He brushed her coat every week, and Blaine trimmed her nails as often as he remembered – or when Kurt reminded him. Kurt took her to the park around lunch every day, and Blaine joined them in the weekends as often as possible. They played in the snow with her, she took them jogging in the spring, they made picnics during the summer where she tried to steal food from the blanket, and in autumn she'd jump in all puddles and get colourful leaves stuck in her coat. She got her own Christmas presents, even from "Grandpa and Grandma Hudmel", and Kurt invited to the most elaborated birthday parties, with dog-themed decorations and chunky treats for Dench. Blaine can't imagine what more they could have done for her. Kurt was so attached to her, that he refused to fly back to Lima and put her in boarding, but instead rented a car where she could sit comfortably and spend the vacation with them. Not that Blaine had resisted, he didn't like to think about her with strangers trying to spread all their time on maybe 20 or 25 dogs each day.

"Thank you for being an ass and buying her behind my back."

"She was the best thing to ever happen to us," Blaine sniffs back.

"Second best," Kurt corrects. "But yeah, she was one of a kind. I just… I don't want her to be gone!" Kurt chokes, and fists Blaine's shirt, Dench's collar squished between their bodies.

"Me neither, me neither." He hugs Kurt tightly, and Kurt hugs him back, and the two young men hold each other with strong arms, trying to control the shared pain and grief. Rationally, Blaine knows this will pass too, and one day they'll be able to talk about her with humour and fondness. But right now, the sadness is overwhelming, and when he spots a picture of the three of them in a frame on the wall fresh tears fall down his cheeks. Dench brought Kurt back to him, and he'll forever love the dog for saving his boyfriend when he himself couldn't reach in to him.


	9. Happy and Merry Christmas

**I really needed to write something more cheerful after my latest update - so here is something fluffy that made me smile. I don't think I need to up the rating, but maybe a warning for mentioning a crotch and an ass?**

 **I'll just place this as an AU-future one shot, because I haven't watched all of season 6 yet and don't know how it ends and if this fits, so yeah. Any canon resemblance is coincidental, or just happens because I should be writing a 7th season of Glee because I'm that good. Or maybe I stink at this, what do I know? Let me know? :D**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

* * *

A smile slowly grows across Blaine's face, when he takes in the entire image of what's visible from the door opening of the apartment he shares with his husband. And audible – Christmas music is playing so loud it would annoy their Grinch of a neighbour if she wasn't in the hospital with a broken femoral neck after slipping on the ice.

In the time he's been gone, Kurt's managed to move their loveseat and one of the chairs to create an open space for the Christmas tree which Blaine went out to buy. They don't have much to navigate within, but Kurt's eye for interior, and his mind for efficient solutions and alternative perspectives makes it work. It could have looked clustered, but it still looks like a cosy home; their cosy home, but now with room for a Christmas tree.

On the coffee table are their three boxes of ornaments, lights and garlands – and the bag of purchases of the year with the in-fashion additions Kurt decided they needed to keep the tree both updated and nostalgic.

Against the wall is another stack of boxes, with their other seasonal decorations. The iron board is also put out from storage, for the curtains and tablecloths. And in the kitchen, Kurt is busy mixing a dough for presumably one of the Christmas cookies needed to keep up with childhood traditions – judging by the scent, it must be gingerbread.

The kitchen table is a mess of lists they began working on earlier. Updating the list of who deserve their Christmas cards, comparing notes on who got what for Christmas last year and what they will get this year - and of course Kurt's scrapbooks to help them remember highlights throughout the last year, and other things worth mentioning in their Christmas letter.

It all looks chaotic, but Blaine knows from experience that Kurt is in complete control of seemingly overwhelming projects. Blaine trusts that with his assistance, their home will be transformed to a photogenic Christmas-vision by the time this weekend comes to an end. Blaine is particularly touched that Kurt actually does need him, and isn't just faking it and patronising him to make him feel important. Kurt may have the aesthetic eye for things, but Blaine is the one who has the best memory for how they solved difficult issues last year (like getting a ceiling-touching tree to their fifth floor apartment). Blaine is the one who can get through to Kurt and help him calm down when he's being too much of a Christmazilla. Blaine is the one who has the special touch when preparing mulled wine for their afternoon cuddles, under a thick blanket with _Love, Actually_ in the DVD-player. Blaine is the one who has to lend Kurt a finger when intricate ribbons are tied around their presents. Blaine is the one who remembers what they got for Christmas last year and who it was from, so that they can avoid the embarrassing faux pas of giving the latest Jo Nesbø-thriller to the same person who gave them a Stephen King-novel last year. (Yet to be read, because neither enjoys that particular genre, but they got it exchanged to a travel-book about United Kingdom to prepare for their European adventure that will happen one day.)

It's a lot of work to get there, but when everything is prepared, completed and done, they have quite the spectacular Christmasy-home, in Blaine's opinion. And he's elated that they get to do this together for many, many more years to come.

Because of the loud music, Kurt hasn't heard Blaine return yet. He carefully leans the tree against the wall in the hall, giving it a chance to acclimate before mounting it to its stand in the warmer living room. Snow-wet boots are placed on the rack to dry, so is his coat and hat. The gloves are full of sap and needles, but they were old and meant to be thrown away after this expedition anyway. After checking his hair in the mirror over the table for keys, wallets and pens he walks over to Kurt, who's whisking flour vigorously into the spicy sugar and butter-mix.

He wraps his arms around Kurt's waist from behind, and his husband instantly leans into the touch, resting against his chest, and stilling his baking-related movements. Blaine nuzzles against Kurt's collar, and kisses him tenderly at the nape of his hair.

"Mmm, what was that for?" Kurt murmurs slowly.

"Because I love you. Because I love celebrating Christmas with you, in our home. Because I love getting this place ready for Christmas together with you. And because you let me mount the star to the top of the tree even if you are taller."

"I am taller than you," Kurt agrees, and tilts his head to encourage Blaine to kiss more of his skin. "And I'm nicer."

"That's questionable," Blaine chuckles, and gently nibbles Kurt's earlobe after kissing his way up the column of his neck.

"We'll see who gets the bigger present from Santa, won't we?" Kurt gasps, and leans even closer against Blaine, his ass pressed firmly against Blaine's crotch.

"Was that an innuendo?" Blaine wonders, dragging one hand up along Kurt's sternum, the other hooking its thumb through a belt loop to push him closer.

"I don't know," Kurt says breathlessly. "Was it?"

"Yeah," Blaine whispers in his ear, "I think it was," and tugs his husband with him to their bedroom.

Celebrating Christmas with Kurt is amazing. Celebrating Christmas with Kurt as newly-weds is unbelievable.


	10. Sweater Weather

**I don't have much to say today, except enjoy.**

* * *

"So how many presents have you got left to buy?" Mercedes asks Kurt, and yanks him by his hand towards JC Penney's Christmas sale.

"Only two," he replies smugly, because he's a planner and not someone who has to spend December 23rd stressing from mall to mall to get every single present bought in time. "And one of them is a skirt I'm making for Carole, which is more or less done. What are we doing here?" he objects, when his best friend pulls him into the store.

"I thought it was a good spot to find a little of everything for anyone in as little time as possible," she sighs, and pulls out her phone to scroll through the list of gifts she needs to get.

"You sure know how to make someone feel special, all that heart and consideration you put in each purchase," he teases, bumping his hip against her.

"Your gift being the exception, of course," she winks. "You're way too fabulous to get anything from here."

"And so are you," he agrees, and thinks about the matching ring and bracelet he's gotten for her. It's fierce, just like her, and he got lucky on a Black Friday-sale in a jewellery store. Even if he'd say she's priceless to him, his wallet disagrees. There is a price and a limit. This year he's not only buying gifts for his closest family, who is so much bigger now with Carole and Finn. He's also buying gifts for his friends, not something he's been used to. But thanks to Glee, he now has friends to appreciate like that. Rachel and he are doing a marathon baking day this weekend, to make gift bags of note-shaped gingerbread cookies for everyone in Glee. But he wants to give something special to Mercedes and Rachel.

"I'm considering a tie for Dad. Maybe something funny to use in his dentist office, to make it less scary for his patients," she muses, and wanders in the direction of the clothes' section.

Kurt frowns at the idea, but will give her a chance to think about it before judging her loudly. He's working on the whole "be nice"-concept. It can't hurt this close to Christmas, and he knows he can have quite the poisonous tongue. He doesn't want to shove his newfound friendships away so quickly, he's not ready to relax entirely yet. It's taken him so long to find someone who accepts him, absolutely all of him, and he's not entirely sure he's actually managed to find it now either.

While Mercedes studies the ties, Kurt moves towards the Christmas section, where a selected range of wool clothes is on display. Maybe he could find a warm hat for his dad, instead of those godawful baseball caps he insists on wearing 24/7/365. The heart scare is still vibrant in Kurt's spine, with the gut reaction to protect and pillow his dad.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment?"

Kurt discreetly glances around to see if someone else might have been addressed, but no one else is standing particularly close, so Kurt looks up from the wool hat with padded earmuffs. His eyes land on a handsome boy around his age, wearing what looks like a school uniform, with hair so gelled it makes Kurt wonder what he's hiding, and eyes that sucks his soul out in all the best ways. He doesn't blink until he hears something land on the floor, and spots the dark blue hat and his empty hands.

Yeah, Kurt thinks, this feels like a moment.

He nods dumbly at the boy, who's looking both expectant, shy and increasingly dejected.

"Oh good," he exhales. "I need to ask you a favour, and I know this might sound weird, but I swear I'm a good guy."

"Okay?" Kurt quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. From the corner of his eye, he makes sure Mercedes is still around, if this self-declared good guy turns out to be a lunatic. She's talking in the phone, but waves at him when she looks in his direction.

"I'm doing some late Christmas shopping. I've actually been done with most of my gifts for quite some time," he says, scoring points in Kurt's imaginary book for this handsome fella. "But my brother and I have this silly tradition, trying to outdo each other with the most idiotic gift. So I need your help," he concludes.

"Because I look like an expert on idiotic gifts?" Kurt says snarkily.

"Oh gosh, no, you look very stylish, I love your boots," the boy gushes, looking flustered, and damn him for endearing himself to yet another point in Kurt's mental book. "It's just that you and my brother are built similarly, so I was hoping you'd model a few sweaters for me to help me pick the most insane."

"You compliment me on my fashion sense, and then offer me to wear fugly sweaters?" Kurt crosses his arms across his chest, cocking one hip to the side to underline his faux disbelief.

"Umm, yes, that seems to be the case. I would be really grateful if you'd help me, though," he smiles bashfully, ducking his head as he scratches the back of his neck.

"Sure," Kurt shrugs. It's not as if he has anything better to do, as long as Mercedes is on the phone. From the look on her face, he expects Sam is on the other end.

"Sweet," the boy beams. "I'm Blaine, by the way, Blaine Anderson," he introduces, and offers his hand to shake. Kurt accepts it with a racing heart, and gives him his name.

"So Kurt," Blaine says, and wow, his name sounds amazing coming from this boy's mouth. "I've spotted a few hideous Christmas sweaters. Would you model them and help me judge? The worse they are, the better."

"Okay, let's get going," Kurt agrees. They each take a handful of candidates, and walk to the dressing stalls.

"So what did your brother get you last year?" he asks behind the curtain, and starts unbuttoning his coat. When he doesn't get an answer, he peeks out behind the curtain to make sure Blaine is still there.

"It's really embarrassing," Blaine sighs when he notices Kurt looking.

"I thought that was the point."

"Umm, a female sex doll," Blaine mumbles, and looks away. "It was awful, my aunt got the biggest eyes, and I struggled even more than usual to explain to my grandma that I don't have a girlfriend because I'm gay…"

"Aah…" Kurt says compassionately, and ducks behind the curtain again to pull the first sweater over his head. "I can see that must have been awkward. It makes this sweater look quite friendly in comparison," Kurt decides, and steps out to model it for Blaine, as promised. He walks down the aisle, turns dramatically, and struts back to Blaine, stopping a few feet from him and strikes a pose.

"You're wonderful!" Blaine blurts out, laughing into his hands. Kurt is wearing a bright red sweater, with bold letters spelling out _Jingle my bells_ , and two metallic bells sewn to the hem of the sweater. He's never felt less wonderful, and still Blaine's words make him blush. "The sweater is terrible, but it won't make Coop feel embarrassed. He likes being a lady-magnet, and doesn't mind if the message comes out crystal clear. Do you mind trying the next?"

Kurt spins, and hides behind the curtain again, to try the next sweater.

"Tell me about your brother. What's he like?"

"I don't know," Blaine shrugs. "He lives in LA, so we aren't really close anymore. He moved years ago."

"So he's older than you?" Kurt's voice asks, muffled by the second sweater he's pulling over his face.

"Yes, eight years older. We used to have a lot of fun, but he left before he had graduated from high school," Blaine says, and he sounds sad.

"What kind of fun?" Kurt nudges, hoping happy memories will replace the sadness that is so out of place on such a gorgeous boy.

Blaine laughs, and Kurt can bet he's shy again, shaking his head in disbelief of what they used to do.

"We would perform together, sing duets and dance to choreography Coop planned, or just copying the music videos. Our guests had to sit through many a performance after Sunday soirees, and I'm still not sure if our parents were proud or embarrassed when we both insisted on putting on a show," he chuckles.

"Sounds like fun," Kurt giggles. "Are you ready?" He gives Blaine a moment to brace himself, before he steps out. He extends his hands dramatically, sings a "ta-daa", and tilts his head playfully at Blaine.

The sweater has a picture – a real picture, and not just a drawing or embroidery, of two reindeers "going at it", or "doing the nasty," as Puck would have said. Under is the text _Merry XXX-Mas_.

"I don't know who comes up with these," Blaine laughs. "How can this even be legal? Any other time of year, and these would have been banned."

"I know!" Kurt exclaims. "I adore the nature palette for interior we see coming, and the cabin in the wilderness-feel with the right accessories is trés chic. But this is just… Too much call of nature for my taste."

Blaine smiles widely at him.

"It's too realistic to be funny, and too obvious to be embarrassing, right?"

"Agreed," Kurt nods, and returns to try the next sweater. "So what did you get your brother last year?"

"Acting classes," he hears in a snort from the other side of the curtain. "He's an actor," Blaine adds, a lovely punchline to his gag gift.

"Nice. Are you ready for the last?" He doesn't wait for Blaine's answer, but strides out to reveal in all its glory a mid-thigh sweater with a snowman upside down, and his 3D carrot nose sticking out in an unfortunate place. He poses ridiculously, fiercer than he'd ever dare to be in front of the other in Glee, but Blaine is a stranger, so it doesn't matter.

"You look like you have experience with the catwalk," Blaine nods appreciatively, but smiling honestly.

"I may have picked up a hint or two from watching too much _Top Model_."

"Do you want to be a model?" Blaine asks, nothing but sincerity in his voice.

"No. If people are going to look at me, it's because I amaze with my voice and acting skills. But I wouldn't mind being the one who dresses the models," Kurt admits.

"So you want to be a fancy nurse?" Blaine giggles, and Kurt joins him.

"Exactly. I'm glad you understand me so well."

Blaine shrugs, and blushes.

"Yeah, well, that sweater isn't working either. I thought this was what I was looking for, but I need something grander."

"A man of grand gestures?"

"Go big or go home?"

"Can I get back to my own clothes? I think my dignity reached its limit after the second sweater."

"Of course, of course," Blaine gesticulates, and holds the curtain to the side for him. Yet a point in Kurt's non-existing book.

When Kurt gets out, Blaine is sitting cross-legged in a chair, and Mercedes is hovering too close to be coincidental.

"Kurt, hi!" she greets cheerfully. "You made a friend, I see."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing!" she objects innocently. "It's just that…"

"Was that Sam on the phone?" Kurt asks to nudge her on. Blaine gets up from the chair, and with a polite murmur, he takes the folded sweaters out of Kurt's hands to place them on their right shelves.

"It turns out that his parents and siblings are out of the house for the day…"

"Go," Kurt shakes his head. Even if it's insane to not finish the gift shopping this close to Christmas, he guesses he can understand the appeal of spending some time with your boyfriend to make out. He'd like the opportunity to find out if it's as exciting as everyone claims it to be. Making out with Brittany had just been weird.

"I'm sorry you got stood up," Blaine says softly, coming back just as Mercedes hurries out with a wave and a giggle.

"The alluring sirene called boyfriend, and I am just a boy and a friend," Kurt shrugs.

"Well, considering you happen to find yourself with some unexpected spare time, would you accept my offer for a coffee as a thank you for modelling the planet's ugliest sweaters?"

Kurt just looks at him, and wonders what this is. When did gorgeous, funny and polite boys start offering to buy him coffee?

"Or did you already have other plans?" Blaine adds, looking nervous, and is that disappointment?

"No," Kurt rushes out, to answer the last question. "I'd love some coffee," he adds to avoid any potential misunderstandings.

"Great!" Blaine smiles from ear to ear. "Is the coffee shop downstairs okay?"

"Of course." The canteen at McKinley would be just lovely, if it meant he got to sit down with Blaine for a span of time. "Maybe we can brainstorm better crappy Christmas gifts for your brother."

Blaine doesn't only buy Kurt the coffee, but even adds seasonal cookies for them. They hardly discuss present-possibilities for Cooper, getting lost in conversation when they discover their mutual love for Sondheim, bowties and New York.

It isn't until Carole calls to ask Kurt if he can bring back carrots and whipped cream for dinner that he realizes he should go home. So he does.

But he has a cute boy's phone number in his pocket, and tentative plans to meet when the biggest family-events are behind them. After all, Kurt needs to know how Cooper reacted to the big foam pointing finger.


	11. How To Date A Celebrity

**Svallkille prompted I continue number 4, "And So They Meet". And so I did.**

 **It was just decided that I host Christmas for part of my family this year, so I've been too busy with tidying, cooking, baking, assembling guest bed, buying gifts and everything else needed. Which has given me less time to write, but I hope to get more of that done this weekend.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except a lot of Christmas cookies.**

* * *

"You look amazing!" Blaine gushes, and leans in to kiss Kurt's cheek. His lips linger for a little moment longer, and he blushes when he leans back.

"Thank you!" Kurt preens. Sometimes, it feels as if he's wearing his various costumes on stage more than he gets to wear his own clothes. So he had made sure to put on a fabulous outfit today, but somewhat toned down considering they weren't having a late dinner or doing anything glamorous. The shine in Blaine's eyes make it worth to be slightly overdressed for this.

"I have to admit I was surprised that you gave me your real number," Blaine murmurs, and gestures for them to start walking. They had agreed to meet by the main entrance to Bryant Park at noon, when they both would be well rested after last night's concert (Blaine) and performance (Kurt).

"And I have to admit it's one of the most insane things I've ever done," Kurt admits.

"Well, then I'm humbled and proud to be your exception. Or was that too forward of me?"

"Far from it," Kurt hurries to declare. "I've never lived the crazy rock 'n roll-life with groupies and fans waiting backstage to come home with me. I'm looking for something that matters."

"It's not always like that," Blaine says lowly, and to Kurt's surprise he almost sounds hurt. "The tour-life, I mean. It doesn't have to be about parties and hook-ups unless that's what you want. I take pride in my music," he says, and during his little speech he's increased the distance between them.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says insistently, "that's not what I meant at all. I guess I wasn't thinking. It hasn't quite dawned on me that I'm on a date with a bona fide rock star. I was mocking my own life as successful and the stereotypes expected. I'm still that kid from Ohio who hoped to meet a cute guy. Teenage-me never dreamed of dating celebrities. Well, I do remember a bucket list that said something about having relations with Taylor Lautner in a field of meadows."

"No, I'm sorry for overreacting. It can be difficult to sort the real guys out in the crowds of eager fans. Which is kinda ironic, considering how we met," Blaine chuckles self-deprecatingly.

"And for Taylor Lautner - hot!" Blaine giggles. "Did it happen?"

"No, he got bald, and I really liked his dark, tuggable hair…" Kurt sighs playfully.

"Yeah?" Blaine grins, and runs a hand through his hair. He's sans hair gel today, in the hope of staying a little more off the radar and be kept alone on this date.

"It's our first date," Kurt exclaims faux scandalized, and bumps his shoulder against Blaine's. They keep walking through the park like that, close and smiling shyly at each other.

"I'm sorry that I'm being weird," Kurt finally admits. "I haven't been dating for some time, and most definitely not someone like you. I'm not sure what to do with myself…"

Blaine looks at him with the kindest eyes. Kurt doesn't know if it's accidental or intentional, but their hands brush against each other, sending sparks up his arm.

"Have you seen Notting Hill?" Blaine asks.

"I dare you to find a romcom I've never watched, especially one with a British accent. The Welsh accent is a glorious bonus for that movie."

"So no, then," Blaine deadpans. "And do you have an accent boner? Does it do things to ya, if a man talks with a prominent pronunciation?" he smirks with a southern drawl.

"Did you have a point?" Kurt looks pointedly at him, after shivering displeased at the horrible effort of an accent.

"Yeah, remember when Anna brings that painting to William, and she says she's just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her?" Blaine looks at him with so sincere eyes, and it's impossible for Kurt to even blink.

"That gets to me. Every. Single Time," he says thickly. Damn him for being such a sucker for romance.

"Maybe that could be our motto today, and for as long as this happens?" he says, waving a hand between them. "I'm just a boy, you're just a boy. Easy as that. I do quite a lot about you as a performer, both from NYADA and stuff you've done after graduation. And I can assure you that there's a quite thorough wiki-page on my career online. But that's really not what we're interested in knowing right now, is it?"

"You're right," Kurt exhales. "I guess I have a tendency to complicate things, making it more difficult than necessary."

"Good to know," Blaine grins. "I've been told I'm patient and persistent."

"Sounds like a good match," Kurt laughs. "So, this is a plain, average, regular, normal first date. Then I'd like to know your favourite ice cream-flavour," he says determinedly, eyes on Wafels & Dinges.

Blaine follows his sight, and he nods approvingly.

"My treat, though. I asked you out, so I pay," Blaine insists, and rests a steady hand on Kurt's lower back to hurry them towards the bakery. He must have a true sweet-tooth, Kurt makes a mental note.

"Okay, but then I'm taking you on a tour on _Le Carrousel_ ," Kurt agrees, and wiggles his eyebrows playfully while pronouncing the name with a perfect French accent.

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine gasps, "so forward, and just on our first date. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"The kind of guy who likes to straddle something solid, and enjoys the seduction of too slow movements up and down, round and round?" Kurt says with a straight face.

"Oh my God," Blaine laughs, clutching one arm over his stomach. "You, my dear, is way too much. I need to buy coffee, if I'm going to keep up with you today.

"You had me at coffee," Kurt bats his eyelashes, and enjoys the blush spreading across Blaine's face. He thought dating a rock star would require more of him than he is able to offer, but it turns out that flirting with this young man comes easily. He can't wait for their second and twentieth date.


	12. Guaranteed

_*****Mature content, rated M, proceed with caution*****_

 **There's a certain kind of store that runs a TV-commercial now before Christmas in my country, where they guarantee something very specific, and that lead to all kinds of musings and wondering, and suddently this happened.**

 **Alternative first meeting, naughty language, adult plot, be warned.**

* * *

"I believe this was sold with a guarantee. It didn't meet my expectations, so I'd like to return it," Kurt says steadily, and places the insignificant bag on the counter. Unfortunately, the cashier is drop dead gorgeous, which makes this errand all the much worse. But Kurt promised himself, so he pushes on with bravado. He went to NYADA, goddamnit, he can pretend this isn't mortifying. He reminds himself that Santana never would think he has the balls to do this, which is all the more reason to pull through.

"Your purchase didn't satisfy you?" the handsome young man questions, and opens the plastic bag to retrieve the rectangular box.

"I didn't buy it," Kurt blurts out, and he wonders if his flaming cheeks will set off the fire alarm. So much for a degree in acting, when met with such a fitting yet inappropriate question.

Cute Cashier looks at the box, with the bright pink glittery vibrator. Kurt got it as a gift from Santana, as a pick-me-up (or a fill-me-up, as she said) some time after a disastrous break-up. Mortified, he'd hidden it in an old winter boot far behind in his closet. But with time came curiousness, or loneliness and horniness, and he'd taken the box out the other night, when he knew for sure that both Santana and Rachel would be gone for hours. They had hot dates for Valentine's Day, while he just had a cheating ex, an empty apartment and a brand new vibrator.

"You are absolutely right; this is sold with an orgasm guarantee," Handsome Hottie says politely, even almost charmingly, and Kurt wonders if good looks is a requirement to get a job in an adult store. Lust for the cashier; buy extra lube?

Kurt wonders how exactly that policy works out – how does Kurt as a customer prove that the vibrator didn't… please him? He's pretty sure this is the opening scene for at least a dozen different porn movies, with the (lack of) plot continuing in the backroom. Double-entendre intentional, of course.

"I have the same, but in turquoise. I'm very happy with it," he explains, and Kurt wonders if it is customary for everybody working in sale to say that they have this and that, as if to guarantee the value because they too chose to buy it. "But these things are very much a matter of preferences. Would you like cash, or would you rather exchange it in a different item? If you wouldn't mind expanding on what you didn't like with this one, I could possibly suggest a replacement," Gorgeous Guy smiles. Is it mandatory for Sex Toy-Sellers to try everything in the store? Is that how they spend lunch break, Kurt muses, but shakes his weird mind away.

"Cash, please," Kurt mumbles. The whole affair, albeit brief, had been awkward and impersonal, and convinced Kurt that he preferred a hot-blooded body to a plastic phallus. And just because Santana is an ass, he'll keep the money. It'll probably go to therapy sooner or later, scarred from living with her.

"For our product evaluation and improvement service, would you mind sharing an evaluation of this particular vibrator? You get your money back regardless, of course." As if to prove his honesty, Senor Sexy finishes the transaction, sliding the notes and coins across the counter to Kurt. Kurt pockets the money, aghast at how much money Santana spent on his lack of sex-life.

"Umm…" Kurt hesitates. How do you phrase why you didn't like the gaudy vibrator, and keep it within the orgasm-guarantee? There are of course things he could say, but it seems way too personal, intimate.

"I guess I'm a cuddler," he shrugs, trying to come off as playful. He doesn't want to seem like an inexperienced teenager in front of Mr. Biceps.

"Well, I hear there are boyfriend pillows for that purpose, but I'm afraid we don't sell those," he grins.

Kurt blushes viciously, and wonders if it is written on his forehead what kind of loser he is, who has Bruce hidden away under his bed for those loneliest nights.

"Aww," Brunette Babe coos. "We're in a sex shop, and you blush at the mention of a stuffed arm. You're adorable," he gushes, and despite his words, he too blushes.

"I'm not a virgin," Kurt hears himself blurt out. Great.

"Lucky men," he winks at Kurt, and it emboldens him to say something actually useful for this store.

"It hurt," he says. "The vibrator," he clarifies. "It hurt to use it, and I'm not into that kind of stuff. It was a mood killer," he concludes.

"I'm so sorry, did it do any damage?" Short and Sturdy asks worriedly, and waves the offending box as if to scold it.

"No, but perhaps it gave me a bruise to my pride, how difficult can masturbating be?" Kurt jokes. As so often happens, he loses all filter when he's nervous and wants to make a good impression. The other man grins at him.

"I have a few standard questions I have to ask, I hope you don't mind?" He waits for Kurt to nod, before he continues. "You've already established that you are not a virgin, so I assume you have some experience with anal pleasure," he says, and Kurt is so glad that he's not the only one blushing like a tomato from this conversation.

"Yes," he groans.

"Did you follow instructions?"

Kurt nods again. He'd read all text twice, both on the box and on the leaflet inside. That's how he knows it came with an orgasm guarantee. Not that a vibrator was that complicated – if he can assemble an engine in his dad's garage, it really shouldn't be a brainer to insert batteries and use plenty of lube.

"Would you mind giving as detailed an explanation as possible in regards to how the item failed to fulfil expectations?"

Kurt wants to groan at the cheesy and manufactured questions. Why can't the cute boy just ask what's wrong with the dildo? All this formality is making this visit all the more surreal. How can a sex toy-shop have employed such a dapper, correct young man?

"If I may?" he asks, and reaches a hand out for the box still in Mr. Contradiction's hand. "I've washed it thoroughly," he murmurs, and extricates the offending object from its box. "It's ribbed, but some of the circles have fairly sharp edges. That's too rough for my taste," Kurt manages to get out, and points at the part of the vibrator that made it hurt.

"It's not supposed to hurt. As a matter of fact, vibrators aren't supposed to have sharp edges; after all, we don't want to risk any damage. Smooth and slick does it," he chuckles. He gives Kurt his hand, and examines the pink phallus. "This must be faulty from the fabric, it's not supposed to look like this. Mine is perfect. We'll return it with a complaint, this must have snuck through the quality control. We here at _Beyond Bed Sheets_ take pride in offering high quality toys."

"Good to know," Kurt snorts.

"Anything else I can help you with?" he smiles, and leans on his elbows on the counter, looking at Kurt as if he's looking through his clothes and his skin.

"You said you don't have the boyfriend pillow, and this failed to give me a happy Valentine's Day, so unless you'd be willing to save the rest of this crappy weekend by going out with me, I think you've done all your boss is expecting from you," Kurt jokes.

"If you asked me like a gentleman, I'd say yes," the man murmurs.

"For real?" Kurt likes at him wide-eyed, wondering if his joke is being thrown back at his face.

"You're stunning and witty, I'd be insane to turn you down. But you better court me, I have standards," he winks.

This is insane, Kurt thinks. These things don't happen in real life.

"My name is Kurt Hummel," he introduces, and for the heck of it he extends a hand to shake. The Glorious Guy takes it easily, and gives him his name.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt repeats, to memorize it. "Blaine, would you like to get coffee with me one day? For a date where we don't think about customer service or quality control, but talk about more first date-appropriate topics?"

"I'd love to!" Blaine beams.


	13. Everything

**Christmas ain't over 'till I say it is, so I can still update with a few advent-drabbles...**

 **Charleygyrl gave me this prompt:**  
 ** _"Hey, I was wondering if you could maybe do a prompt? I really find that klaine+baking with flour+fluff=feels, so maybe a prompt where Blaine and Kurt are cooking and Kurt like gets flour mix everywhere? Or Blaine gets it in Kurt's hair? OH GOD LOL."  
_ I'm pretty sure the outcome is far from what you hoped for, but it's what I could write right now. I'm not having the best day, so this came out of it.**

 **This is canon in my head, with Kurt boarding at Dalton, right after his transfer.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but you should try the cookies - google Martha Stewart and the name of the cookies Kurt mentions. They are delicious!**

* * *

"Kurt!"

Kurt turns around at the sound of his name, and he already knows who it is. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Spontaneously and instantly, he smiles at Blaine.

"Good evening," he smirks, taking in the dishevelled look of his brand new friend. He may have memorized his schedule, so that he knows Blaine's coming from fencing practice, and the few drops trickling along Blaine's temples are proof he must recently have been in the shower…

"So, Wes asked if we'd help the Warbler Council with the charity bake sale this weekend," Blaine smiles impishly.

"He ordered you, didn't he?" Kurt asks knowingly, and takes a step down the staircase to get closer to Blaine. He tries to tell himself it's to make the conversation easier among the after dinner-rush of students running back to the common rooms and dormitories.

"Wes is a good friend of mine," Blaine says calmly.

"Which doesn't mean it's beyond him to command his closest when he needs things to be done," Kurt parries, one eyebrow raised.

"You haven't even been at Dalton for a week, but still you've got him figured out," Blaine grins, and shakes his head in amusement. "You're really something, Kurt."

Kurt's cheeks flush at the sound of his name, sounding so special and precious coming from that particular mouth.

"Have you met my friends?" he deadpans, ignoring his flaming blush. "Wes is nothing but a tame version of Rachel, with better manners and cuter butt," he mumbles, not wanting to be overheard by anyone in the crowd. No bullying-policy aside, he won't risk annoying anyone with his gayness and predatory objectifying.

Blaine's loud guffah may draw the attention Kurt tries to avoid, though.

"Every Warbler has to participate," Blaine smiles diplomatically. "You, my little Warbler, have been boasting about your culinary skills," he says, swiftly shifting to a more teasing tone, or dare Kurt think of it as flirty even? "Will you please guide me? Wes want four pies or eight dozen cookies."

"He really expects to sell that much?" Kurt wonders surprised. He remembers vividly the bake sale at McKinley, and it took illegal drugs to make any money from it. Kurt is torn between thinking not one single Dalton student will be able to provide him with drugs and thinking he can find plenty of elite drugs here. A blueberry pie with a sprinkle of cocaine, perhaps?

"The entire tenor crew will be baking. Our bake sales are pretty popular," Blaine shrugs with a shy smile, and reminds Kurt of how he described the Warblers as rock stars when they first met.

"Sounds like a happening I wouldn't want to miss out on. So, where and when does the baking take place?"

"Now?" Blaine winces apologetically. "The home ec-room is empty this afternoon, but is fully booked all day tomorrow."

Kurt has an English essay to get started on, and he needs to catch up on the far more advanced math they do here than at McKinley. Not to mention how far behind he is on sleep with all the stress that's been crowding him lately. But as Blaine said, he's yet to be a student at this school for as much as a week, certainly the teachers will understand if it takes him some time to get acclimated?

"Lead the way, good sire," Kurt commands, with an exaggerated hand wave. Blaine tugs at his sleeve, leading them back down the stairs and towards the appropriate classroom.

The Dalton building is still overwhelming Kurt in all the best ways – far from daunting, more like a castle for a dream-fairytale come true. But the majestic and opulent hallways are still confusing him and taking him on various sightseeings throughout the day. Fortunately, Blaine is a willing guide, helping him find his way to the right classroom to the right time as often as he can. He's been like a prince straight out from a Grimm Brothers-saga, charming and chivalrous, attentive and patient. If Kurt's life was a romcom, he would have joined Dalton just to be with his crush, but as it is Kurt was forced to transfer because of escalating bullying, sexual harassment, really. Of course, Kurt's life gave him a wonderful step-mom and not the fairytale-version. Karofsky is the foul-breathed vicious dragon, and Blaine is the knight trying to slay him through a well-mannered confrontation. Kurt hasn't quite gotten the metaphors straight for his own role in this fairytale, but even heroes need helpers, don't they? Kurt doesn't have to write himself as the helpless princess trapped in the tallest tower – they can be the two gay musketeers, or Hansel and Gregory.

"So what do you propose?"

"Frodo and Aragorn?" Kurt suggests dumbly, shaken out of his inner wonderland by Blaine's unexpected question.

"Is that… some kind of pastry?" Blaine asks confused, peaking his head out from the cupboard.

"Never mind," Kurt mumbles. "What are our options?"

They peruse the shelves for optimal ingredients, while Blaine explains something about previous charity events. Kurt isn't really paying attention. In between deciding between chocolate chip peanut butter-cookies and cranberry coconut-cookies, he's busy watching Blaine's hands. Blaine's picking up random ingredients, and all Kurt can think about is how nice it feels whenever one of those hands rests on his lower back, squeezes his shoulder, pats his knee, or that glorious time it was wrapped securely around his own hand.

"Banana walnut chocolate chunk cookies," Kurt nods determinedly after examining the fruit bowl, and Blaine moans appreciatively. It sounds obscene to Kurt's ears.

He gives Blaine the tasks of chopping up walnuts and chocolate, while he starts stirring the sticky dough.

The recipe was one of his mom's, one they often returned to. It was a standing Saturday tradition of theirs to bake something tasty for the weekend, and they would often test new recipes, which his mom found in her weekly magazines. But some became favourites, classics, something dear to revisit time and time again. Whenever they had overripe bananas, this was an obligatory solution. Sometimes, little Kurt would insist on buying extra bananas from the supermarket during their weekly grocery shopping on Mondays, in the hopes of guaranteeing these special cookies for their weekend treat.

"Hey!" he objects, when something soft hits his face. A touch of his fingertip to his cheek reveals the suspected flour. Blaine is grinning, not even trying to act innocently, and instead shoves the can of flour back to Kurt.

"You looked lost in thought," he says, and his smile fades into something softer, gentler.

"Sorry," Kurt apologizes automatically.

"You're allowed your own headspace. I'm just checking in to see if you are okay. It's been a big week for you, a lot happening."

Kurt exhales loudly, and his lungs are filled with a deep ache instead of oxygen. He misses his mom, he misses his friends, he misses his dad, he misses his innocence stolen by Dave.

"I…" The sound chokes on a sob, and Blaine is instantly there, hesitant arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly.

"You don't have to say anything," Blaine murmurs, and Kurt sags in relief against his solid body. For all that's been going on the last days, all the paper work to finalize the transfer, the info meetings, the complaints to the board of McKinley, the packing, the farewells…. Nobody has really hugged him, not like this. Turns out, it was everything Kurt needed. Someone to just hold him, when it feels as if he's falling apart. He cries silently on Blaine's shoulder, and the other boy holds him equally silently. Sometimes, words are redundant.

"I may have ruined your blazer," Kurt eventually sniffs. "If so should be the case, I really have done you a favour," he continues, and Blaine chuckles against his crown.

"At least you admitted the blazer is better than the letterman-jackets. I still have that text from you."

"Anything would be," Kurt says petulantly. Unlike Blaine, he's out of uniform, wearing one of his more casual outfits, but still his own clothes, without emblems or piping.

"Hey, Thad is hall monitor this week, and pretty lenient on curfew as long as we keep it down. Do you want to watch _Moulin Rouge_ in my room after this?" Blaine suggests seemingly out of nowhere. But it's not that long ago that Kurt told him how it is his go to-movie when he needs a good cry.

"Yeah," Kurt nods, still against Blaine's shoulder. Crying in front of Blaine while watching a favourite movie seems more dignified than crying himself to sleep alone in his room because he's overwhelmed and exhausted.

"We'll appropriate a few cookies, and get coffee from the vending machine in the lobby," Blaine decides, and Kurt just knows that he'll make sure to donate money for the charity fund to make up for it.

"Thank you," Kurt whispers, still safe and comfortable in Blaine's embrace.

"It's nothing, dummy," Blaine murmurs back, but Kurt knows he's wrong. This is everything.


	14. Just What The Doctor Needed

**Happy New Year, everybody!**

 **I've spent these days re-watching most of season 1, and had a fangirl moment when I realized that one of the judges for Sectionals is played by Anna Camp, who later starred in _Pitch Perfect_. I may be slow, but it was a fun moment regardless. Also, I realized Britanny isn't even in the first episode of Glee? I love going back and rewatch, still new things to discover and scenes I see differently because we know what happens in later seasons. Oh well, enough drama analysis, I'm just enjoying binge-rewatching seasons 1 to 5, and will finally see season 6 when I get through all of that.**

 **Svallkille prompted I continue number 5, "Just What The Doctor Ordered".**

 **During the advent time, I started writing two stories based on plots I thought would be quick, but turned out to be more than just drabbles. I don't know if I should finish them, or abandon them in favour of returning to my two WIPs. Any preferences from my readers?**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

* * *

"I'm not sick!"

The hoarse voice that breaks at the end of the sentence to skyrocket at least an octave challenges that particular statement.

"You're not leaving this bed," Kurt commands, and pushes Blaine back to his pillows. His stupid, stupid fiancé thought he was going to work today. He'd stumbled into their shared bed some time after 2 AM – Kurt hadn't managed to open his eyes enough to look properly at the alarm on his nightstand, but it had said 02:something-something. Conditioned by years of habits, Kurt had half-asleep turned over and pulled Blaine closer, offering his big spoon-qualities for his over-worked Dr. Übermensch. Blaine had been shivering in his arms until Kurt's body heat seeped into him, but he hadn't thought much of it. Cold, windy, rainy November nights could freeze anyone on their trek home from the subway.

But in the morning, Kurt had started to worry. Blaine had slept through his alarm clock, which never ever happened. Blaine was the most considerate gentleman, and had a well-developed knack to spare Kurt from too many brutal awakenings by reacting to his alarm instantly. They both had various schedules and rhythms, with Blaine working various shifts at the hospital and Kurt alternating between rehearsals and performances. Currently, Kurt is on the stage six nights a week – and one Saturday matinee. So Blaine tries not to disrupt his sleep when he has to get up insanely early for his morning shifts. Last night had been an exception, stepping up to do extra hours to cover for a colleague who just became a dad, giving him the possibility to spend some time with his brand new family. Kurt's own Dr. Nightingale, too kind for his own good sometimes, and one of the reasons Kurt is so madly in love with him.

Blaine understands his man's need for beauty sleep to maintain his skin and hair, not to mention how it is necessary to maintain the patience needed to deal with the diva currently acting against him (in more ways than one), a man so high maintenance and self-absorbed he makes Sophomore-Rachel seem like a toddler (and Kurt knows this for sure, having witnessed and compared them from first row earlier). So when Blaine isn't out of bed within the first few bars of his alarm, Kurt knows something is wrong. He'd rolled closer to Blaine, who'd separated from him during the night. His moist t-shirt stuck to his entire back, and when Kurt touched his forehead, he knew where to cook scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. Blaine woke up when Kurt started fussing, and of course panicked thinking he'd overslept. And that's where they currently are, Kurt trying to make his own personal doctor-fantasy realize that he can't go to work when he looks sicker than his own patients.

"'m not that sick," Blaine objects, and flails uselessly with his legs to untangle from the covers he somehow is trapped in.

"I'm getting the thermometer and letting that be the judge of that," Kurt snorts, feeling confident about the outcome. He shuffles to the bathroom, still not entirely awake himself, and on his way his blather reminds him about its morning needs. He might as well brush his teeth when he's out of his bed.

So it takes him a couple of minutes to return to their bedroom, and there he finds Blaine sitting in bed. Well, he's sort of sitting, leaning heavily against the bedpost, with one leg folded under himself, and the other more or less shoved into scrubs. The top part.

"Okay mister, you're not going anywhere before this little thingy reaches its verdict," Kurt grins, and tries to tug the scrub top off of Blaine's foot.

"It's Doctor Anderson," Blaine mumbles, and fidgets so much with his foot that Kurt worries he'll get kicked in his face. That shiner would not be a good look on stage.

"Open up," Kurt sing-songs, waving the thermometer in front of Blaine's face. "And it will soon be Doctor Anderson-Hummel," Kurt winks, to which Blaine instantly beams as if Kurt was the sun and the cure to cancer and calorie-free cronuts all in one. He lifts a hand to place over Kurt's heart.

"Now, open up those pretty lips, or this will be the last time I ever insert anything in any of your orifices."

Blaine looks at him with comically big eyes, and a jaw gravitating towards his knees.

"Good," Kurt smirks, and shoves the meter into his mouth.

"ex rrrrr gnn?" Blaine tries to ask. Kurt sits down next to his silly fiancé, and thinks how true it is that doctors make for the worst patients. He wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs the covers over both laps.

"You will always be my Dr. Dapper, and you are very well aware of what it does to me to see you in that white coat with one of your many, many whimsical bowties. But right now I'll bet my latest McQueen-coat that you are currently a patient. I will care for you, I will feed you, I will bath you, and I will even help you with the facilities. But I will not blow you until you are at 100.3 or below."

Blaine looks at him with amused eyes, wiggles his eyebrows, and scoots a little closer, brushing his hip against Kurt's.

"Oh my God, I will not fuck you either!" Kurt laughs. "Nor will you do anything to me," he hurries to add, knowing how Blaine loves to find loopholes in their… debates.

Blaine exaggeratedly deflates, and leans into Kurt's embrace. He runs a hand through his sweaty curls, a total mess after his fever-hot night.

"Even superheroes need sick-days," Kurt murmurs, and Blaine hums something.

He forgot to clock the time, because Blaine is the undisputed medical expert in this relationship, and nine out of ten times Kurt is the one who's sick or injured, but he extricates the thermometer when he thinks it's been long enough. He studies the little display, and grins triumphantly.

"101 blank," he exclaims, and looks pointedly at Blaine. "You are sick, Mister," he says, deliberately demoting him to a civilian.

"I'm sick!" Blaine pouts, and oh God, there came the puppy eyes.

"I'm sorry you're sick, honey," Kurt murmurs. The joy of winning this bet is instantly replaced by sympathy for his fiancé. Fortunately, living with a doctor means he's thoroughly instructed in situations like these, and they have a well-stocked medicine cabinet. "Get under the covers, and I'll make it all better, okay?"

"Blowjob?" Blaine murmurs with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"Not that much better," Kurt snorts. "But I can provide you with pain killers, a cold washcloth, something to rehydrate with, and I'd be willing to find some cheesy Star Wars-fanfiction to read for you. I know you've bookmarked a few new updates by your favourite authors."

"I love you," Blaine whispers.

"I love you too, germs and all," he says, and leaves to get the before-mentioned supplies. When he returns, Blaine is fast asleep. Kurt leaves everything on his nightstand, before tiptoeing to the other side of their bed. The good thing about not being a professional doctor is that there are no restrictions against cuddling with your patients. And if Blaine should happen to give him whatever he's gotten, Kurt thinks he could deserve a few days off from the theatre. It would give his understudy excellent experience, dealing with Jesse St. James and his primadonna-attitude.


End file.
